
Class 
Book 



U-^ir 



COPStlGHT DEPOSm 




BOHEMIA^ 



JAMES CLJUHHf E HARVEY 

Illustrations by 
A'MucHA-Hy-Myflu* 

OUTCWLT <&' Others 

HM CALDWELL CO 

JSC<^W York - Eostor)f 





lUBRARV of OONGRf SSf 
Two Oopitis rtecuiveu I 

AUG 1 1906 I 
\Uocoi. f, f9o5- 

COPr 8. 







iJ/. Mucha 



Copyright, iqoj 
By H. M. Caldwell Co. 



I- 






DEDICATION 

O you whose footsteps, long be- 
fore my own, 

Have trod Bohemia's paths 
and found them fair, 

To you whose souls shall 
find them free from care, 

Long after my contented soul 
has flown, 

But, more than all, to you 
whose lives have grown 

Close knit to mine, its grief 
and joy to share. 

Whose smiles made light the 
burdens all must bear, 
And never yet, for bread have given a stone. 




To you I may inscribe what here is writ 
Of knights Bohemian, in the pleasant past, 
vii 



DEDICATION 

With hopes for repetition near at hand. 
If aught is cribbed, what scribe will kick a bit, 
To read again of hours too sweet to last? 
On common ground, Bohemia's children 
stand. 

J. G. H. 




Vlll 



INTRODUCTION 



OHEMIA is not a place. It is an 
atmosphere. It is as subtle as elec- 
tricity and as changeable as a 
woman's smile. It may exist at the 
banquets of the opulent, or it may 
flourish at the table d'hote of the compara- 
tively poverty-stricken, for we are only rich 
or poor by comparison. 

You may find it to-night where corks are 
popping and not counted, and to-morrow, like 
the smoke of yesterday's cigar, it has floated 
away. 

Even in the Quartier Latin of Paris, where 
it is supposed to reach its perihelion, you may 
seek for it in vain, for there are those who 
mistake rudeness, soiled linen of table or per- 
son, sour wine and a loosely tied neckerchief 
for Bohemianism. 
They want to be known as Bohemians, and 

IX 



INTRODUCTION 

the eagerness to be known defeats their pur- 
pose. 

As mighty Mars sprang, full-statured and 
full-armoured in an hour from the head of 
Minerva, so Bohemia suddenly springs to life 
when least expected in the most unforeseen 
surroundings. 

Bohemia is not synonymous with license, 
nor intoxication, nor immorality, but it learns 
to look upon the foibles of fate and the powers 
of chance with a philosophic eye. 

Where there is a saturation of the air with 
mixed intelligences, where genius, talent, 
ability, and appreciation fill with magnetic 
receptivity the hearts and minds and souls 
of men and women, and where breadth of 
thought and the sincerity of the hour stamp 
vivid pictures upon the page of memory, there 
is Bohemia. 

Bohemia is not ostentatious. It is uncon- 
scious. Here and there little Bohemias spring 
into being, through the natural cohesion of 
congenial spirits, and the unconsciousness of it 
all charms and stimulates. 

X 



INTRODUCTION 

But, man is a social animal, and he loves 
to bring others to browse where fields green 
and pastures new have been discovered. So, 
gradually those who take in, but do not give 
out, creep in, ostentation rears its hydra head, 
the lute is rift, and the notes no longer ring 
true. Then the true spirit of Bohemianism 
flies out at the window. 

There are as many grades in Bohemia as 
there are shades of purple. There isn't much 
royal purple. 

It is a sure sign that Bohemian atmosphere 
is creeping in when it becomes necessary to 
engage your dinner or supper table ahead of 
the hour. Where it exists, there will the 
hunters for pleasure congregate. All classes 
love its mysterious, revivifying touch, no mat- 
ter how strenuously they may deny any famil- 
iarity with it. They may say .that they go to 
look on, but ere they are aware their names are 
in the cast. 

The abandonment of youth at sixteen or 
sixty, and even the exhilaration of wine, bring 
only lenient smiles in Bohemia, if its king is 
xi 



INTRODUCTION 

on the throne untrammelled by self-appointed 
prime ministers. 

The manufactured Bohemian is an impossi- 
bility. The true Bohemian is the child of 
Nature and Human Nature. 

These pages are intended to reflect and 
radiate, simply, a few of the million atmos- 
pheres in a reminiscent way. 

Here and there, a line or a rhyme or an 
incident will recall some similar experience, 
and, in living it over again, the reader will 
thank the publisher for reawakened delight. 

That's all. 




Xll 



c~:r 



iUtnn 



(loctitailE; 

What Is Bohemia ? p. 19 The Bohemian, p. 26 

The Morning After, p. 30 



^ttitreg 

Pearl and the Oyster, p. 35 

Art, Fin de Siecle, p. 40 

Rector's After the Play, p. 41 



£n tijc Soup 
Hungarian Goulash on the East Side, p. 45 
When Mabel Pours the Tea, p. 51 

There Never Was a Man, p. 53 




gw 



The Little Widow at Old Maria's, p. 57 
). QQ A Toast, p. 



Haunted, p. 66 



Kelebe 

3tist on tije ^tUe 
The Tale of a Hansom Horse, p. 71 

Modern Marriages, p. 81 

A Pupil of Charcot, p. 82 

•a Etttle JFtsfjg 
A Bohemian Night in Cairo, p. 89 

The First Flirtation, p. 92 

The Lambs' Club. p. 97 



^auteme 

Claremont for Breakfast, p. 105 

The Point of View, p. 109 

A Very Unusual Girl, p. 113 



'^^' '*T\ 



k^ 



Entree 

Slumming in Chinatown, p. 117 

Over the Rose, p. 122 

Out of the Long Ago, p. 123 

Koti 

Srte i^oast 

Little Hungary and the Boulevard, p. 131 
The Bachelor Tax, p. 134 

Slumming, p. 137 

C!)ampaffae 

Bohemianism at Madison Square, p. 141 

A Toast to the Man's Man, p. 145 

They Met in the Rain, p. 147 

(^ibier 

% ILittle (Kameg 

La Vie Parisienne, p. 151 The Five Senses, p. 154 

The Ways of the Manicure Maid, p. 155 



d 




The Cashier at Macari's, p. 159 
The Real Thing, p. 168 

Un Petit Salon, p. 171 

With the Punch, p. 176 
Dear Little Dutch, 



Jl^ute anti Eatfiitnfi; 

BaU Breaks anti lEicuses 

Cafe des Ambassadeurs, p. 179 The Brat, p. 181 
The Strollers, p. 184 Injured Innocence, p. 187 

CofaaccD 

^ ILittlc (JTlouHg 
The Pleiades, p. 191 



CorUtalfii 



My Pipe, p. 193 



Cafe des Beaux Arts, p. 197 

A Toast to To-night, p. 199 

The Bowery of Damascus, p. 200 
Jamais ! Tout la Vie, p. 203 

The Last Bohemian, p. 206 




eocitetaflfs 



WHEN, with a 
friend, you 
share your cup 
of wine, 

The senses five 
unite, in joy di- 
vine. 

The sense of 
sight, within the 
depths so dim, 

The sense of 
hearing, in the 
clink or rim. 

The sense of 
touch, that trem- 
bles on the lips, 

The sense of 
taste, in count- 
less little sips. 

The sense of 
smell, as through 
the rich bouquet, 

You pledge long 
life and health 
for many a day. 



/*d rather live in Bohemia than any other 
land*' 



IN BOHEMIA 



WHAT IS BOHEMIA? 

What is Bohemia? 'Tis the mystic land, 
Where kindred souls can grasp the friendly 

hand. 
Where business cares, Hke flitting shadows 

pass 
And disappear above the social glass. 
Where doubts and fears, that all our pleas- 
ures mar. 
Float off in clouds of smoke from your cigar. 
It is a realm where every man is king 
And friendship's smile a princely offering. 
This is Bohemia, where your differences end 
And life begins anew as friend to friend. 
19 



IN BOHEMIA 

" I'd rather live in Bohemia than in any other 

land," 
So spake the soul of the poet, with the touch 

of a master hand. 
The dear, old, white-haired singer is at rest 

beneath the sod. 
But that which was best and brightest, his 

song soul, now with God, 
Can never die in Bohemia, for he laid before 

her shrine, 
A wreath of rhyme immortal, with the burst of 

a thought divine. 
He linked all the past and present in a glori- 
ous to-day. 
And warm hearts beating truly, he crowned 

with a wreath of bay. 
And for us who knew him and loved him, what 

else is there left to do, 
But to stand here to-night in Bohemia, and 

swear that his words rang true? 

This is the real Bohemia, where a bit of paste- 
board white, 



20 



IN BOHEMIA 

And — a name — is enough to gather the 

friends that you see to-night. 
This is the real Bohemia, where a joke must 

have its point, 
And a jest that is only vulgar means a man's 

nose out of joint. 
The vagabonds of Bohemia we recognize as 

we should. 
But they dare not cross these portals till the 

vagabonds make good. 

Wealth is a thing we covet, Fame is a thing 
to prize, 

Pride is a sovereign master, when it shines 
from beauty's eyes; 

Love and the dreams of passion, through life 
must play their parts, 

But the golden glow of Bohemia is the Sun, 
that warms our hearts. 

There are those who say Bohemia is not what 
the poet sings. 

That Bohemia's ten commandments are frag- 
ile, delicate things. 



21 



IN BOHEMIA 

They speak of the ten commandments, their 

cold eyes fixed on heaven. 
But it isn't of ten they're thinking; it's only 

number seven. 
Well, what if the touch of passion shall colour 

the cheek of snow! 
Who are they that cry "unholy," and who 

will the first stone throw? 
Poet and sage and prophet have never failed to 

sing 
The truth of the ancient axiom that " Youth 

must have its fling." 
One said of old, to a woman : " Depart and sin 

no more," 
But his chosen friend King Solomon had a 

thousand wives or more. 
And it isn't upon the records that he ever had 

to atone, 
And if sin it be for the woman, why the man 

can't sin alone. 
And so Bohemia teaches that Nature's gift to 

man, 
Is a set of brains and some passions. You 

must balance them if you can. 

22 



IN BOHEMIA 

And I tell you Bohemia's pendulum is a thing 

that swingeth wide. 
It may touch heaven in the morning and hell 

at eventide. 
But pain is the price of pleasure. You must 

pay a tear for a smile. 
God save us from shallow natures who are 

happy all the while. 

The glance of the eye that thrills us, the clasp 
of the hand that cheers, 

The ring of the voice that charms us, the swift 
smile that endears. 

The bringing of kindred spirits, be they beg- 
gars, priests, or kings. 

To stand on a common footing is the gift 
Bohemia brings. 

And the spirits that rule Bohemia, the hours 

of happiness through. 
Ask not for your birth or title, but only: 

"What can you do?" 
And it all depends on your answer, if your 

words ring fair and true, 

23 



IN BOHEMIA 

As you stand at the gate of Bohemia, if the 
questioner lets you through. 

And once inside of Bohemia, what hope ye 

there to find? 
Not only those who can listen when bright 

mind answers mind, 
But those who can thrill your senses and lift 

you to the skies 
On the wings of song till you enter the gates 

of Paradise. 
For vassal and king in Bohemia have natures 

strangely blent, 
Where God-given gifts are plenty and the 

greatest — Temperament. 

And they who are blessed of heaven with its 
only foretaste here 

Are swayed by the wings of Fancy and sub- 
ject to atmosphere. 

Reflecting the moods of the moment of joy 
or sorrow or pain. 

But ever the smile to cheer you like the sun- 
shine after the rain. 

24 



IN BOHEMIA 

That's why I love Bohemia, where the masks 

are laid aside, 
And a warm heart beating truly is never a 

thing to deride. 
"Oh! I'd rather live in Bohemia than in any 

other land." 
I'd rather be poor in Bohemia than rich in a 

palace grand, 
Apart from the friends that love us and reckon 

us at our worth — 
I tell you, boys, Bohemia — is the only place 

on earth. 




THE BOHEMIAN 

It is not easy to recognize the true Bohe- 
mian at a glance. 

Just when you have satisfied yourself that 
a particular set of characteristics in some one 
personality fills the bill, he falls down in some 
prime essential, and you must relight your lan= 
tern, bail out your tub, and start your search 
anew. 

He is as difficult to locate as "The Man 
About Town," who was something between 
a rounder and a club-man, who vacillated be- 
tween a Fifth Avenue reception and a Bowery 
boxing bout, who didn't belong to the Lotus 
Club, nor was he a leading spirit in Chuck 
Connor's Sunday Fishing Excursions, but of 
everything intermediate he knew all. 

He will give his seat in a crowded car to an 
old mammy, tired with her day's washing, 

26 



IN BOHEMIA 

quicker than to a pink face, topped by copper- 
coloured curls, topped again by a picture hat, 
and still again by a bird whose spreading 
wings suggest that the wearer ought to pay 
two fares to be comfortable. 

A young English Bohemian defined his posi- 
tion unconsciously in a comment on fashions 
in dress. He said: 

" I fail to recognize the necessity, don' cher 
know, for giving so much time and suffering, 
so much annoyance, in the matter of deciding 
upon the proper suit. I'm sure I get along 
very nicely with only my pyjamas and evening 
dress." 

The Man About Town works when he has 
to, but the Bohemian works when he wants 
to, and adapts his life to the consequent 
revenue. 

One of the many types is a hard-working, 
honey-making bee as long as the daylight 
lasts, but as soon as he feels the refractions 
and reflections of the White Lane's incandes- 
cence upon his broad expanse of shirt front, 
his character changes, and the peace-loving 
27 



IN BOHEMIA 

citizen of the day becomes the Bohemian of 
the night, looking for trouble, and ready to 
pawn his watch for the needful and ready 
to loan the needful to the needy. 

Still another type is modest and retiring 
until a wicker-covered Chianti bottle and a 
steaming dish of spaghetti loom in the fore- 
ground. Then he bursts into song that is not 
music, nods familiarly to everybody in sight, 
and offers to send all the patrons of the res- 
taurant home in cabs at his expense. 

The usual Bohemian, worthy of the name, 
acquires what might be called a " graceful 
gift of gab," if it has not fallen to him by in- 
heritance, for there is no place in the world 
where a man is more apt to be called upon 
for impromptu remarks than in Bohemia, and 
woe to the man who fails to make good, 
whether it be at the tables of the Upper Ten 
or the feeding-grounds of the lower ten thou- 
sand. 

The lack of a flow of words is forgiven, 
however, if you can " do something." Paint- 
ing, sculpture, poesy — poor poesy — without 

28 



IN BOHEMIA 

the exclamation point, suffer, oh! how they 
suffer, that Bohemia may cry proudly: 

" He sculps," " Great painter," or, with 
the usual pitying smile and lifting of the eye- 
brows: "Poet! — But!" 

If the clay and the palette and the gift of 
speech fail, there is still hope for some of the 
strugglers. Fortune may have left bags of 
gold at his gates, and then he "entertains." 

But, after all, the true Bohemian is as 
elusive as the finale to Frank Stockton's " Lady 
or the Tiger," for just when you think the 
chain of your reasoning is complete and you 
have located him, a link in your logic slips, 
and you must scour Bohemia again to find 
the genuine article. 

But, fortunately, the labour we delight in^ 
physics pain. 



29 




THE MORNING AFTER 



The waltz, the wine, the whispered words that 
thrill, 
The shadowed nooks in a conservatory, 
A dozen dances, quite ignored, until 

His lips could frame anew the old, old story. 

The orchids droop, the violets breathe their last, 

The atmosphere about them getting torrid — 

30 



IN BOHEMIA 

When love is sweet, what makes flowers fade 
so fast? 
The dance is done; 'tis nearly morn — 
" How horrid! " 

When from the arms of sleep dear dreams 
arise, 
Enfolded soft in daintiest, filmiest laces — 
Fond angels, drifted out of Paradise, 

Whence come those little frowns upon their 
faces? 
Justine, the maid, might question, with a sigh, 
" Where is the usual smile and rippling 

laughter? " 
An angel's voice might, brusquely, make reply, 
"Ah, woe is me! it is the Morning After." 

The sunbeams tiptoe in to kiss her hair; 

On cheek and chin the sunshine loves to 
linger ; 
The whispering South-wind murmurs, " She is 
fair!" — 
She does not care the tip of one small finger, 
For she has found a snowy little hair. 
And stilled, alas! is all her song and laughter; 
31 



IN BOHEMIA 

That silver record of a happier care 

Upsets the whole wide world — The Morn- 
ing After. 

What knows the peach that ripens in the sun, 

The kisses of the leaves about her scorning, 
Of how the restless race of life is run? 

What does she know about a real Next 
Morning? 
One flake of snow does not a Winter make; 

A woman's life is full of moods and tenses; 
When dreams are shattered, hearts should 
never break, 

But cherish them as sweet experiences. 

The Morning After! Then the mirror shows, 

By little starts and swiftly fleeting flushes. 
That memory is at work. The mirror knows 
They are but echoes, dear, of last night's 
blushes. 
But then the angel empties out her heart. 

Of all its pleading, coaxing, sighing tenants; 
Hangs up a sign: "No rooms to let, within," 
And all the men — save one — do nine days' 
penance, 

32 



^mtvtu 




On the Half 




Pearl*' 



PEARL AND THE OYSTER. 

Her name wasn't really " Pearl." It was 
only a pet name, but a few of us knew that 
she " was educated beautiful " and " her fa- 
ther's house in Vermont was just grand," and 
when her " father's friend " came up there 
from New York — well — "What's the use o' 
tears, anyhow? " 

Pearl was a brilliant conversationalist, even 
if it was overburdened with vernacular. She 
was frank and confiding. Why, she used to 
wear a white feather boa, after she bleached 
her hair, and when some one tried to compli- 
ment her, saying: 

" Do you know, Pearl, I think only a blonde 
should wear a white boa." 

She answered: 

" I have just as much trouble keeping this 
boa white as I do keeping my hair blonde." 

She didn't hesitate to express herself even 

35 



IN BOHEMIA 

if there were strangers at the table. I heard 
her say one night: 

" I'm tired of being footed under the table 
by some one who thinks a cheap dinner en- 
titles him to uncalled-for demonstrations. I 
want my emotions stirred, of course. Every- 
body does. I want to be taken off my feet 
once in awhile. I want to meet a man who 
isn't afraid to take me by the shoulders and 
shake me and say: * You she-devil! You mad- 
den me!' and then I'll dress in red for him." 

I was there at the table d'hote the night she 
broke her pivot tooth on a pearl in the oyster. 

I don't know how she happened to be eating 
oysters that night, for she was the girl who 
said: 

" I'm awfully glad I don't like oysters." 

Somebody said: 

"Why?" 

" Because," she said, " if I liked 'em I'd eat 
*em, and I hate 'em." 

She yelled a delicious little "Oh!" when 
she bit the pearl and covered her mouth, a 
very pretty mouth, with her napkin. 

36 



IN BOHEMIA 

And when she cried i 

"Why! It's a pearl!" everybody in the 
place knew about it, especially the proprietor. 

We never had liked him personally, and we 
liked him less when he claimed the pearl. 

But Pearl's cavalier that evening was a 
lawyer, and the argument waxed delicious. 

The proprietor claimed the usual privilege 
of charging extra for things taken away from 
the table, but the lawyer argued that he had 
bought the oyster and all that pertained to it, 
and could throw it away if he chose to. 

Then the proprietor said that he had sold 
only the edible qualities of the oyster, and that 
Cleopatra was the only one who ever claimed 
that pearls were really a feature of any first- 
class menu. To this the lawyer replied that 
Cleopatra's pearl, being among the potations 
and not considered edible, the cases were not 
parallel. 

Then the proprietor maintained that the 
pearl was a part of the shell and as such was 
his, since custom had decreed that the shell 
of the oyster was usually left behind. 

37 



IN BOHEMIA 

Then Pearl herself spoke up and said that 
everything on the plate was hers, and if she 
chose to eat the shells it was her privilege. 

An auctioneer across the table said: 

" Excuse me for butting in, but we have a 
sort of a formula which goes on the block 
that all goods sold are sold 'as is.* And that 
oyster was sold * as is/ " said the auctioneer, 
" and don't you give it up. The laws will 
sustain you." 

Then a little joker interfered and said: 

" Why, don't you know the story of the man 
who found a pants button in the hash and 
remonstrated, and the waiter asked him what 
he was kicking about, and asked if he expected 
to find a silk umbrella? " 

And the joker continued:: 

" There isn't a line in the story that would 
lead any one to believe that the waiter de- 
manded the button." 

The lawyer took up the argument again 
and claimed that the pearl was a by-product 
of the oyster just as the button was a by- 
product of the hash, and maintained that the 

38 



IN BOHEMIA 

brewer who buys barley to make beer is en- 
titled to whatever by-products may come 
from the mash after the barley has performed 
its functions. 

When the pearl was valued at seven hundred 
dollars, the proprietor was the maddest man 
I ever saw. 

I'm not sure that Pearl sold it, but her flat 
is just as cozy as it can be, and the lawyer 
certainly won her respect by the way he 
argued her side for her. 



39 




ART, FIN DE SIECLE 

Perspective lines are out of date. 

A compass and a scroll, 
A bit of chalk, a schoolboy's slate, 

A man without a soul. 
Are all that modern art requires. 

As you can plainly see. 
All rules are fudge. No man can judge 

How this or that should be. 

The hungry artist starves to prove 

The genius of effect, 
As swift he moves along the grooves 

Of canonized elect. 
A sweep! A swish! A swash of ink! 

A wild erratic line! 
A dot! A dash! and like a flash, 

Behold! High art, divine! 



40 



RECTOR'S AFTER THE PLAY 

Rector's after the play is supposed to be a 
very naughty place to go, but the evening 
passes with the utmost decorum, and there 
is usually more hullabaloo at a family table. 

Nothing is said audibly that can bring the 
blush of shame to the cheek of modesty; of 
course there are little whisperings at the side 
tables, but when youth is having its fling it 
will whisper anywhere. So, you see, it isn't 
what is said and done at Rector's that makes 
it naughty, it is the fact that people go there 
at that time who have ultra Bohemian tenden- 
cies when they are not there. 

Could you pick up snatches of the conversa- 
tion at the various tables it would run some- 
thing like this: 

" You don't mean to tell me they have 
quarrelled again? " 

" Quarrelled? Why, he struck her in a fit 
of jealousy." 

41 



IN BOHEMIA 

" Well, I can tell you that no man would 
ever strike me but once." 

Or, at another table: 

"Well! you saw the Victoria she drives 
yourself, and if you think she has saved that 
out of her alimony, you are mistaken." 

"But who is it?" 

" Well, I was told that when she went to 
Monte Carlo last summer — " and so the cat 
is out of the bag at that table. 

If you are good and go to Rector's it is 
overlooked. If you are bad and go there, they 
overlook you. 

Rector's after the play is not unlike D'Ar- 
menoville in the Bois de Boulogne of an 
afternoon. Pretty but not punctilious girls 
in profusion, and stunning gowns. 

The fascination of the place is in guessing 
who paid for them, and after you have guessed 
it, you have another guess as to how long he 
will pay for them. That is more difficult. 
Oh, yes! Plenty of good people go there, too. 
I go there myself! 



42 



^otaoe 




In the Soup 




You are now ripe for fluffy skirts*' 



HUNGARIAN GOULASH ON THE EAST 
SIDE 

"The Scum of the Earth!" you think and 
say, as a pig-tailed child treads on your toes in 
a wild endeavour to reach " Home " in a game 
of hop-scotch on the East Side. But, two gen- 
erations later, that "scum" changes its name 
and becomes " The Upper Crust." 

You dive under a brown stone flight of steps 
and a motherly girl in pink silk beseeches you 
to " Come and play in her yard." She im- 
plores you to join in the chorus, for the more 
enthusiasm she can stir up the longer her 
engagement lasts. A very thin soup is placed 
before you with a pea, two beans, and a hint at 
a carrot hurdling over a noodle in the trans- 
lucent depths. But the soup has flavour, and 
you begin to take notice as you smile because 
the others around you are doing it for the 
same reasons. 

45 



IN BOHEMIA 

Opposite you, eating in a Hungarian way, 
is a man who certainly must be an orchestra 
leader, for knife, spoon, and fork, all testify 
as he gracefully stabs whatever he needs 
next among the eatables. He is out of work 
or he would be at work at this hour. Over 
there is a German brewer, self-satisfied and 
contented. No doubt it is his beer which the 
placards on the wall advertise, and the pro- 
prietor is not behind in his accounts, for the 
brewer jollies him. At another small table 
in the corner is a stenographer, or a " Hello " 
girl with her beau, and their elbows touch 
across the table. Drop your napkin, and as 
you pick it up, glance over and you will see 
that their toes touch under the table. Love's 
young dream always wants to touch toes under 
the table. Some never get over the habit. 
Scattered about the place, the European ele- 
ment dominates. When the waiter is near, 
you feel like a boor. He is so princely. The 
waiters all click their heels like German offi- 
cers. Maybe they have been German officers, 



46 



IN BOHEMIA 

for when you raise your finger, they stand 
at " Attention " magnificently. 

The orchestra perspires at its work. What- 
ever may fail on the menu or seem scant, the 
musicians give full measure. Effort, volume, 
and intensity are all there. They have played 
those pieces a million times, but they stare 
the notes out of countenance to prove their 
devotion to art. 

After the soup, you draw mysterious little 
dishes that bewilder you, but leave a charm. 

By the time you get to the roast, it is eight 
o'clock and the evening is in its prime. Every- 
body seems to love everybody else, thanks to 
the heavy Hungarian wines or the beer of 
the brewer, who is certainly proving his faith 
in his own works. If he is paying full rates, 
it is a fine night for the restaurant. The 
wines flow freely, too, and the names on the 
labels suggest a Russo-Japanese battle-field. 

A massive creature, with an expanse of shirt 

front which might accommodate a map of the 

world, steps upon the little stage. In your 

mind's eye you picture the great, heavy bass 

47 



IN BOHEMIA 

notes which will roll out to greet you, and you 
curl your legs around the legs of your chair 
for the onslaught. But, no, out pours a 
tender love-song in a tenor voice that is 
almost a falsetto, and you hate him and want 
to hit him, and you say: 

"Where was he during the subway strike?" 
You have reached a point where you adore 
the goulash. You seek the proprietor's hand 
and hold it while he tells you stories of his 
boyhood, and how he became what he now is 
on that self-same goulash, prepared after the 
same recipe used — God rest her soul — by 
one now dead. You are ready to drop a tear 
for the wife or the mother, under the weeping 
willow in that far-off land, when a command- 
ing voice from a buxom bosom cries " Isi- 
dore ! " and he not only hastens but hurries. 
Only a wife could say " Isidore " like that, and 
a wife v^ho knew her business, too. The gou- 
lash recipe is hers. You are now ripe for 
fluffy skirts. You are not shocked to notice 
that the lady on the stage wears only one 
garter. She does not really strive to show 

48 



IN BOHEMIA 

you that there is a hiatus between underskirt 
and stocking, but it reveals itself unconsciously, 
and you do not hear the words she sings, you 
are so busy wondering if she knows what 
you know. She does. That hiatus has set the 
ball rolling. Conversation develops between 
the audience and the stage. The " Artistes " 
get familiar with the congregation. Repartee 
is not on the programme, but you know now 
why they dared make the soup so thin. It 
is this running fire of comment that brings the 
people here. When it first began you were 
rather disposed to say: 

"How unnecessary!" 

But the first thing you know, something 
strikes you as witty, and you say it aloud. It 
gets a laugh, and you think out a better one, 
and the second effort falls down. It was pre- 
meditated, and nothing premeditated goes. 

When you come out, you remember goulash, 
enthusiasm, pink skirts, and a hiatus, but you 
forget whether the German brewer had been a 
leader of an orchestra, or whether the Hun- 
garian had deserted from the German army. 

49 



IN BOHEMIA 

It was one or the other. But you insist that 
the proprietor shall give you a whole lot of 
his cards, you have such heaps of friends who 
will be crazy to come there when you tell them 
about it. He hunts up three, two soiled and 
one clean one. He is a " nice fellow." 

You are going there always, once a week, 
anyway — sure! But you never go back. 
Why? Why, because there are a thousand 
places just like it lurking at every by-path on 
the East Side, and why go there again when 
variety is the spice of life? 




50 




WHEN MABEL POURS THE TEA 



It matters not what cups are used; 

They're all the same to me: 
The contents I have ne'er refused, 
When Mabel pours the tea. 
51 



IN BOHEMIA 

The flavour, delicate, divine, 

Much finer seems to be, 
If her dear eyes glance into mine, 

When Mabel pours the tea. 

A prettier sight, in all the land, 

I never hope to see, 
Her face behind the brew she planned. 

When Mabel pours the tea. 

And other bachelor hearts I'm sure 

With mine will quite agree. 
A thousand subtle charms allure, 

When Mabel pours the tea. 

Her dainty hands are wondrous fair, 

I wonder if — Ah! Me! — 
If she'd consider sitting there — 

To — always — pour my tea! 



52 



THERE NEVER WAS A MAN 

There never was a man, 
Since womanhood began, 
Could solve the mystic riddle of a woman's 
wondrous ways. 

His heart-strings once in hand, 
She holds them in command. 
And evermore, thereafter, she upon them deftly 
plays. 



She bids him to forget. 
She scorns and spurns him, yet. 

She never quite releases him, as you may 
well suppose. 

She brings him to her arms, 
By strangely subtle charms. 

As delicate and dainty as the perfume of a rose. 



53 



IN BOHEMIA 

But some of us, who think, 
Must hesitate to drink, 
At fountains where the overflow irregularly 
9 runs. 

Lest too persistent wooing 
Result in our undoing 
And sorrow's sable mantle shroud the setting 
of our suns. 




54 




St)trt:ff 



Some say a woman 

never ought to drink, 

And if they do they're 

trembling on a brink, 

But if a glass of 

sherry 
Incites us to be 
merry 
I guess we won't refuse 
it. What do you 
think? 




**The Little Widow 



THE LITTLE WIDOW AT OLD MARIA'S 

The little widow had been insisting for a 
long time that it was her right and privilege 
to lay aside convention for a night, and see 
the real Bohemia. I was in doubt as to 
whether Maria's was really Bohemia or simply 
Bohemian, and I hesitated. 

The little widow was a modest, quiet, re- 
served personality, and only a few knew of 
the soupcon of deviltry in her nature, for she 
had a habit of drooping her eyelids when the 
flash came into the eyes, which left you all at 
sea as to what was really passing in her mind. 

So she had set a definite date on which, 
willy-nilly, I was to be her escort and really 
" do " Bohemia. 

We were a little late in arriving, owing to 
a long argument in which I tried to prove 
that she should sign papers exonerating me 
from all blame in case anything went wrong. 
I knew, of course, that Bohemians are tem- 
57 



IN BOHEMIA 

peramental, and even in Maria's there had 
occurred occasional fisticuffs and more re- 
sounding slaps with the flat of the hand. How 
was I to know that a stray mustard pot, on 
its way to avenge a fancied wrong, might 
not wreck my hopes for the future and inci- 
dentally a gown for the widow! She was 
very pretty, and Bohemians are susceptible. 
How was I to know that I might not have to 
do some resenting myself! 

Jim Ford was partly to blame for it all. She 
had been perusing him, almost to a finish. In 
vain I tried to persuade her that Jim Ford 
was a big, brawny, handsome, broad-shoul- 
dered Hercules, who could dominate Bohemia 
if he liked. I drew vivid pictures of the con- 
trast between her daintiness and his muscu- 
larity, but she would not listen. 

The smoke was pressing against the dingy 
ceiling, like a cushion, as we came in. Below 
the cushion, long, stringy clouds of smoke 
were looking for a home, and still lower down 
figures could be seen, vaguely outlined, like 
the spirits in the nether world feeling their 

58 



IN BOHEMIA 

way through the cloudy realms of space in 
" The Darling of the Gods," and wailing, " It 
is a thousand years." 

But these spirits were not wailing. A few 
had begun to maudle. Some were merely 
exhilarated, and others were voluble. I assured 
the little widow that we were not really play- 
ing fair, for we should have begun with them 
in order to feel with them, but she was quite 
satisfied, and was hardly seated before she 
whispered: 

"Isn't it fun?" 

I had been there before, and never found 
it twice alike, so I was prepared for the un- 
expected, if such a paradox can exist. We 
located in a bunch of genius, that is, a shock 
of hair, a trifle tangled, a hollow-eyed Irving 
in miniature, a prodigious turned-down collar, 
a yard of ribbon posing as a necktie, and a 
sort of a Mr. Pickwick, the names attached 
to the others not being essential. I had never 
spoken twenty sentences with the shock of 
hair, but he rushed around the table and 
shouted: 
59 



IN BOHEMIA 

"Dear old fellow! Charmed, charmed, I 
assure you! " 

Then he looked at the little widow with a 
sort of: 

" Of course you've got to introduce me," 
air, and I did. 

He made a sweeping gesture, such as his 
Majesty might have made on the high hill 
when he said: 

" All this will I give thee — if _ " and, beam- 
ing with a proprietary smile, continued: 

"It's the real thing, ain't it?" 

And the widow said: 

"Perfectly jolly." But I couldn't tell for 
the life of me if she meant it. 

And then Micky Finn arose, and the as- 
sembly was hushed, for if there is a true 
Bohemian, he is one. When he speaks of 
Bohemia he speaks feelingly and honestly and 
earnestly, and if his laws and rules and regu- 
lations, or the lack of them, could be carried 
out, Maria's would have been Maria's and a 
whole lot besides. 

Micky recited, after an interesting preamble, 

60 



IN BOHEMIA 

a bit of Irish dialect verse, in which a work- 
ing man's morning potation was made to seem 
like ambrosial nectar, and everybody rushed 
at their beverages to see if it could be really 
true, but, alas! it was not the first drink of 
the day for them, and quantity had to take 
the place of quality, with the corresponding 
reaction. 

Then some one " did " John Boyle O'Reilly's 
" Bohemia," and it rang true, but somehow the 
setting was wrong. I don't think Bohemia 
has to be absolutely in a basement, nor do I 
think that ventilation is a handicap. 

Between the turns, bedlam broke loose. 
Conversation was fired the length of the cellar, 
— I mean the dining-room, — and it was not 
always of a character to elevate or educate, 
or even amuse. 

You have had some little fishes as appetizers, 
but they suggest the possibility of an untidy 
barrel kept under the stairs without a cover, 
and you hesitated. You have had the onion 
soup, and it was powerful, though it did have 
flavour. Possibly that is because you don't 
61 



IN BOHEMIA 

use much garlic. The fish might have passed 
muster if it had not been swamped in all the 
chopped-up vegetables of the universe as a 
sauce. After all, you came for the spaghetti. 
It arrived on schedule time and you twisted it 
properly and threw your head back at the 
right angle, and only a little bit of it found 
your shirt front. I sometimes wonder if the 
delights of spaghetti are not partially due to 
the gymnastics that go with it. An old 
Italian priest once told me that, to thoroughly 
enjoy spaghetti, you should never touch wine 
while eating it. Before and after, yes, but not 
with it. He claimed that the acid of the wine 
destroyed the sensitiveness of the palate for 
the time and rendered the subtle flavour of 
the dish nil. 

By this time, cigarettes had burned holes 
in the none too tidy table-cloths. Here and 
there a wine-glass of the logwood and water 
had dyed nobly, where an obtrusive elbow had 
waxed eloquent with no salt at hand to pour 
over it, though the hollow-eyed Irving in 
miniature had spilled the salt and then poured 

62 



IN BOHEMIA 

his claret absently over it. And no one seems 
bored as yet, not even the widow. I wonder 
why. I question myself vigorously: 

"Where would you rather be than here?" 
and, to tell the truth, I am not discontented, 
but I am glad that I am sitting in the particular 
seat near a certain particular person. That 
is only natural. 

Often some one sang, but oftener some one 
tried to. I overheard one remark which 
struck me as really funny. A young lady, in 
a peacock blue broadcloth, cut demi-train and 
trimmed with fur, I know what I am talking 
about, for she went out after her " stunt," and 
that was what a woman said about her, well, 
when she started for the piano, some one said: 

"Why! Does she sing?" 

And the nearest neighbour said: 

" No. I've heard her." 

That's the bugaboo at these places. You 
know what some one is going to do, and how 
they'll do it before they have been asked. If 
some one would only take some interest in 
advance and pick out those who are willing 

63 



IN BOHEMIA 

to get up something new. But who is going 
to pay the man who takes interest in advance? 
Nobody. 

It would be much loveHer in Bohemia if 
every one would be more truthful. It takes 
a magnificent liar to make a lie interesting. 
Some one is asked to make a few remarks, and 
he gets up and says that he really cannot make 
a speech. That's the truth, but he intends it 
for a lie, and it boomerangs itself. Then 
he says that he is the last person in the world 
to talk entertainingly, and he thinks no one 
will believe him, but they do. 

While he is speaking, many talk. In this 
case it is almost justifiable, but they do 
the same when some one talks well. Over 
in the corner five heads are gathered at the 
centre of the round table. That means a 
story which even the broad-minded Marian- 
ites may not overhear. You guess the drift of 
it, for the point of those stories always falls 
under one of four heads which cover the 
stories of the world. 

A white-haired old gentleman " Good- 

64 



IN BOHEMIA 

nights " everybody as he passed them on his 
way out, and soon a few of the less Bohemian 
spirits follow him. The ultra Bohemians linger 
and lounge. I look at the little widow sig- 
nificantly, but she is being put through Bo- 
hemia's catechism by a philosopher, who 
lounges on his elbow and holds a cigarette 
over the back of her chair. To-morrow she 
will say " Phew! " and wash her hair. Very 
pretty hair it is, too. The evening has lacked 
magnetism. It is not always so. 

There are times when a good singer sings 
well, a good speaker will show honest wit, 
an actor will render a part in truly artistic 
fashion, and you feel repaid for the time spent, 
but it is the exception not the rule. 

I look at the widow again and she nods. On 
the way home I say: 

"Well?" 

She smiles, and says, softly, and I think she 
held my arm a trifle closer: 

" I think Sherry's leaves a better taste in 
the mouth, don't you? " 



65 



HAUNTED 

I'm haunted by your eyes, dear, 
Those eyes, so dark and deep, 

Where passion broods and dies, dear, 
And Love awakes from sleep. 

Oh! Eyes of slumbering flame and fire, 

Have ye no tears to quench desire? 

I'm haunted by your lips, dear, 

Your lips of cherry red; 
Nay, not for little sips, dear. 

Where half is left unsaid, 
But quivering lips that speak the truth. 
All wet with love's sweet dew of youth. 

I'm haunted by your face, dear. 

That tells the soul within, 
Where fleeting smiles find place, dear, 

And heaven's first joys begin. 

66 



IN BOHEMIA 

I ask no sceptre, crown, or throne, 
Gould I but call them all my own. 

I'm haunted by your soul, dear, 
The heart within your heart. 

Where tides of passion roll, dear, 
And all the senses start, 

Where every trembling nerve is thrilled, 

And Love's sweet cup of joy is filled. 

'Tis all a shadowy dream, dear, 

A vision that is vain. 
Things are not what they seem, dear, 

And heritage to pain 
Is all that's left my heart to tell. 
While you laugh on and say, " Oh — well! 



67 



A TOAST 




AT, drink, and be merry, 

to-morrow ye die." 
Is a motto the ages have 

learned to forgive. 
But the age fin de siecle 

says, winking an eye, 
*• Eat, drink, and be merry, 

to-morrow ye live." 



It seems so much better, when pleasure is 
rife. 
And life is worth living, to drink with a 
smile. 
The glasses are clinking, so here's to long life. 
Death isn't worth dying. It's gone out of 
style. 



68 



MtU^^ 




Jiist on the side 




'John Moore started back' 



THE TALE OF A HANSOM HORSE 



KTj EWITT CLINTON was overstimu- 
^ lated. It had been a hard day on the 
j floor of the Exchange, and in unload- 
._JI ing five thousand shares of U. P. 
preferred he had completely used 
up a voice which had been musical and per- 
suasive enough to win a promise of marriage 
from old FoUinsbee's daughter Lucy, but the 
promise involved serious conditions. 

The ups and downs of U. P. preferred had 
led to the breaking of these conditions so 
often that Clinton was in what might be 
called probationary disgrace, and, to cheer him- 
self up a bit, he was breaking the conditions 
into still smaller pieces. 

When his engagement to Lucy Follinsbee 
had become an assured fact, barring the con- 
ditions, he had sold his racers and let John 
Moore, his faithful groom, take a vacation, 
71 



IN BOHEMIA 

which was to last until at least a month after 
his honeymoon trip. 

But Lucy Follinsbee, with a keen eye to the 
fulfilment of all pledges, had put off the wed- 
ding-day, because of certain bibulous breaches, 
until over a year had flown since the time 
when Clinton had pictured himsfJi a con- 
tented benedick. 

The fluctuations of U. P. preferred had 
played skittles with his resolutions, but he 
was ready to make a new supply. 

And so, when he left his club on the night of 
his overstimulation, the rock candy, dissolv'ed 
in the natural way, for his hoarseness, had left 
him, to put it with exceeding mildness, ex- 
hilarated, if not the worse for wear and tear. 

At his own door a voice aa hoarse as his 
own, from different and cheaper causes, how- 
ever, greeted him from the seat of the hansom, 
and, dreading the lonesomeness of his bachelor 
apartments, Clinton cried, joyously:. 

"Why! As I'm a sinner, it's dear, old 
John!" 

Doubtless he would have embraced the old 

72 



IN BOHEMIA 

groom had not the overstimulation quickened 
his sense of his own inabiHty to bridge the 
distance to the top of the hansom. But an 
overstimulated member of the stock exchange 
is a resourceful being. He winked at the horse 
as he inquired: 

" Will he stand? " It was more than evi- 
dent that if the horse had a pet ambition, it 
was standing. 

" Waive ceremony, John, and come in, for I 
have a new case of rare old Jamieson that 
will waken memories of every happy hour 
you've known." 

Had Clinton told him to turn the hansom 
and horse loose in the street, John would 
have done it. Had he suggested that a walk 
along the cornices of the block would be an 
appetizer for breakfast, John would have 
joined him. He was fond of his old, young 
master, and his word was law. 

Clinton's den, where he loved to talk and 
think and argue, and even drink " horse," was 
decorated with every appurtenance which could 
stimulate thoughts of the turf. Riding crops 

73 



IN BOHEMIA 

and extra lashes, bits and curbs and bridles 
and snaffles hung like pictures, or rather in- 
stead of pictures, in profusion. Knee rugs, 
blankets, and saddle-cloths served for cush- 
ions, and horseshoes, ancient and modern, 
were at hand to set afoot the horse talk if the 
Jamieson failed to inspire. 

Perhaps John Moore developed an unusual 
amount of bravado under the genial warmth 
of his master's welcome and a third Jamieson, 
but in the general trend of conversation it 
seemed natural enough that he should make 
the statement: 

" The 'oss ain't born, sir, as ole John 
Moore cawn't drive." 

To which DeWitt Clinton, also at his third 
Jamieson, extra, replied: 

" Well, John, I've got a little vixen, idle 
in her stall at Fifty-eighth Street, and if you 
can drive her, you can have her." 

" As you will, Mr. Clinton, as you will. An' 
w'en might this hexibition take place?" 

" No time like the present, John. I think 
it will be a case where the less witnesses you 

74 



IN BOHEMIA 

have the better. I will drive her with your 
cab to the statue of old What's-his-name, at 
Seventy-second Street in the park, and if you 
drive her back, she's yours." 

It was nearly three o'clock when the change 
of horses was made at the stable, and the 
vixen seemed quite in the mood for the ex- 
periment. 

Clinton mounted the seat of the hansom, 
telling John Moore to get inside as he gath- 
ered up the reins for a burst of speed. 

The start might have been a good one if 
Clinton had thought to pull up and fasten the 
iron supporting rod, which relieves the horse 
when not in action. 

It rattled about for an instant, and then, 
like a living thing on mischief bent, shot out 
against the vixen's heels. 

That was enough. The mood of the vixen 
changed. Just how or why the hansom 
missed the gate posts at the entrance of the 
park, no one will ever know. There were 
four hands on the reins, for even the intrepid 
John inside had reached out to assist. 
75 



IN BOHEMIA 

In a vague way the vixen had given some 
little heed to Clinton's attempt at direction, 
and they whizzed around the statue at least 
six times before, as though by common con- 
sent, they all stopped for breath. 

John Moore was out like a shot and at the 
vixen's head. 

Clinton was a good second, and came down 
from the box, announcing: 

" This part of the performance being com- 
pleted, you will now drive her back, John, and 
claim the prize." 

" Me drive 'er back? " said John. " Not fer all 
the 'osses in the universe. She ain't no 'oss, 
she ain't. She's a born devil a-masqueradin' 
as a 'oss. That's wot she is. Me drive 'er! 
No. Not me." 

" Don't you think she might have behaved 
better if that iron rod had not been playing 
with her heels?" said Clinton, cautiously, to 
John. 

" W'otever it was, she showed 'er nawsty 
disposition, sir. I've 'andled 'osses all me 
life, sir, but never 'ave I seen so much o' the 

76 



IN BOHEMIA 

devil in a livin' thing. Never 'ave I seen so 
much pure cussedniss in a pair o' ears." 

"Unhitch her then, and lead her back. I'll 
wait until you come with your own horse," 
said Clinton. 

Pale streaks across the east gave token of 
the coming day as John Moore started back, 
and Clinton, climbing into the hansom, pre- 
pared to give the reaction from the Jamieson 
full sway. 

The tilt of the vehicle made bracing against 
the dashboard necessary. His hat had been 
lost en route, and the general confusion had 
tumbled the locks, which were usually as un- 
ruffled a»s a ptarmigan's breast. But little he 
cared. Jamieson was claiming his own, and, 
regardless of appearances, the inflexible law 
of inclination demanded a nap. 

It was broad, very broad sunlight, when 
Clinton awoke from a very variegated dream. 
Lucy Follinsbee was astride the vixen, and 
would not listen to reason. Her hair was trail- 
ing behind her for miles, and Tam O'Shanter 
followed with the witches. Clinton himself 
77 



IN BOHEMIA 

swinging two bottles of Jamieson like Indian 
clubs, was the goal, and he knew they would 
run him down. In anticipation, he could feel 
his bones aching from the' pounding hoofs. 
But the mightiest ache was in the part of 
him which was waking last, his head. He was 
dimly conscious that something had gone 
wrong, but not quite certain as yet that it was 
himself. Then, as his vision cleared, he began 
to associate hoof-beats with the tangible 
realities of life. 

From one approach he saw a graceful figure 
coming toward him on a chestnut mare, and 
recognized the gait. From another he saw 
two mounted policemen, and in the remote 
perspective he saw John Moore leading a horse 
that would stand. 

It was the last picture in the world that De- 
Witt Clinton would have chosen for Lucy 
Follinsbee's criticism, and long before he could 
see the white of her eyes he felt the severely 
critical expression of face which had already 
postponed his wedding-day three times. 

His attempt at smoothing his rumpled locks 

78 



IN BOHEMIA 

with begrimed hands, was a complete failure. 
The usual recourse of an embarrassed man, 
brushing imaginary dust from his knees, also 
failed to restore his mental equilibrium. 

" Good morning." 

It looks very natural and comfortable and 
pleasant on paper, but oh! the accent and 
intonation and inflection! 

Clinton took his first hurdle, and fell. 

"I thought you might be out this morning 
so I ran up," he said, helplessly. 

"In evening dress?" said Miss Follinsbee, 
and Clinton's hand grasped his expanse of 
shirt front, saying more plainly than words 
could have done: 

" I forgot the evening dress." 

"The air is deHghtful this morning, isn't 
it?" She was merciless. 

"I don't know. Is it?" He fell at the 
second hurdle. 

"Do you think sleeping in the open air 
would be a sure cure?" she asked, ingenu- 
ously. 
Then Clinton grew desperate and made a 

79 



IN BOHEMIA 

clean breast of everything, with frequent ap- 
peals to John Moore for corroboration as John 
harnessed the horse that would stand to the 
hansom. And when, in a final burst of elo- 
quence, he said: 

" And, Lucy, if I had a home to go to, in- 
stead of a den, and if I had you to please, and 
you to hold the reins, we should get rid of 
all these preliminary canters, and I could settle 
down to my gait." 

Then Lucy leaned over the opposite side 
of the chestnut mare and took pity. She said: 

" Come and dine to-night, dear, and we'll set 
a date this time, without conditions." 




80 



MODERN MARRIAGES 

I. 

Saucy curl on pretty girl. 

11. 

Brain of man begins to whirl. 

III. 
Papa something of a churl. 

IV. 

Settles fortune on the girl. 

V. 
Monte Carlo! What a whirl! 

VI. 
Papa's daughter pawns a pearl. 

VII. 
Bad man hunts another girl. 

VIII. 
Papa something of a churl. 

IX. 
Gets divorce for pretty girl. 
81 



A PUPIL OF CHARCOT 

An Effective Illustration of the Subtle Science 
of Thought Transference 

Three thousand dollars had just changed 
hands in an elegant apartment on Fifth 
Avenue. 

Four men in evening dress were seated in 
careless attitudes about a circular table, each 
sipping a demi-tasse, after a banquet of un- 
usual excellence. 

Three of the men were evidently Americans; 
the fourth was proclaimed a Frenchman by 
the cut of his imperial and the upward curl 
of his moustaches. 

"Talk of hypnotism and mesmerism," he 
had said, " I tell you, gentlemen, that thought 
transference is in its infancy. The experi- 
ments of M. Charcot are but child's play com- 

82 



IN BOHEMIA 

pared with the astounding results to be 
achieved before the birth of another century. 
Every thought that comes into being in the 
mind of man is a living entity, endowed at 
birth with a power for good or evil, the mag- 
nitude of which is beyond our wildest dreams. 
Why, gentlemen, even I, a private citizen of 
La Belle France, to whom the subject of 
thought transference has been as yet but a 
diversion for idle hours — even I, without repu- 
tation as a mesmerist, and lacking the won- 
drous power of the adepts of the East, can 
cause each one of you to spring to your feet in 
astonishment, 

" Gentlemen, I will pour from the decanter 
in this cabinet a glass of wine, and in the 
instant of time which passes as I raise the 
glass to my lips I shall influence a human 
being a half a mile away who is not now cog- 
nizant of my existence to such an extent that 
he will feel and know the desire I have con- 
ceived within me for his presence. He will 
come to me, not knowing why he comes, 
subject to my will, and willing to testify to 
83 



IN BOHEMIA 

you as to the impelling force which guided 
his footsteps. On this sheet of paper I will 
describe the individual's manner of entering 
the room, his general appearance; yes, I will 
go still further. I will foretell whatever ob- 
ject he may carry in hand, and I will wager 
$1,000 that my statement will be substantiated 
by a test." 

A shout of derision rose from the throats 
of the three Americans, and in less time than 
it takes in the telling each had agreed to the 
terms of the wager. 

The Frenchman hastily wrote a few words 
on a sheet of paper, folded it, and enclosed 
it in an envelope, which he sealed. He then 
stepped to the cabinet and poured a glass of 
sherry from a decanter, saying: 

" Sherry, gentlemen, is my lucky drink. I 
shall drink sherry on my wedding morning. It 
is a wine which, by right of many good and 
vivifying qualities, belongs to the weaker and 
better sex; but because woman's intuitions 
are akin to the subtle workings of the brain 
in thought transference, I shall drink the 

84 



IN BOHEMIA 

drink of womankind. Gentlemen, with this 
glass of sherry I pledge your health." 

He drained the glass, and placed it on the 
cabinet with a flourish. 

" I have made the impression I believed 
possible," he said. " I have reason to believe 
the person described in that sealed sheet of 
paper is even now approaching us." 

The Frenchman handed to his guests a silver 
case, from which each took a Russian cigarette. 

" Before you have half-finished your cigar- 
ettes, my friends," he continued, " you shall 
admit that mind is superior to matter, and 
that there are powers in this universe superior 
even to mind or matter." 

At that instant there was a knock at the 
door. 

" Gentlemen, kindly read the description 
of the individual who will enter, before I open 
the door." 

With excited faces and hasty fingers the 
sealed document was opened, and one of the 
Americans read: 

"The individual I have summoned will be 

85 



IN BOHEMIA 

less than twenty-five years of age; will take 
off a cap, not a hat, as he enters this room; 
will be dressed in a sack coat of some dark 
blue material, and will hold in his hand a 
slip of paper." 

The Frenchman opened the door, and the 
description was accurate in every particular. 

It was an American District Telegraph mes- 
senger, and the Frenchman's messenger call 
was inside his wine cabinet. 




86 



^oiuuon 





* X^Rays in Egypt' 



A BOHEMIAN NIGHT IN CAIRO 

The earlier part of the evening was conven- 
tional enough, for there was a regimental ball 
at the Ghizereh palace across the Nile, and, 
judging from the diversity of uniform, there 
must be a special brand for each officer, for 
I hardly saw two alike, and each one outdoes 
the other for splendour. 

In a mighty quadrangle of the purlieus of 
Cairo, flaming and smoking oil torches throw 
fitful shadows of Syrians, Copts, Nubians, 
Bedouins, Abyssinians, and a handful of 
Americans. 

On the matting in the centre of the quad- 
rangle dervishes are whirling, at least, they 
claim to be dervishes, but these dervishes both 
howl and whirl, which makes you suspicious, 
for a dervish is apt to make a specialty of one 
or the other. All through the performance 
they whirl round and round on one spot, 
89 



IN BOHEMIA 

their white pleated skirts standing out straight 
from the waist. Everywhere you look, you 
see those fierce eyes that suggest murders at a 
dollar apiece. Here, a man clad only in one 
thin white garment, transparent in texture, 
plunges a flaming pine knot torch under the 
garment, and whirls and dances as though a 
night-shirt of fire was his greatest comfort. 

There, a handsome young fellow thrusts 
metal skewers through his cheeks and chin and 
nose, and through his arms and thighs, until 
he looks like a porcupine. 

Over here, a man is thrusting great balls 
of burning wax into his mouth and blowing 
out the smoke, but there is no smell of burn- 
ing flesh, so you can only wonder. 

Over there, a man is biting pieces from the 
edge of a drinking-glass, and crunching them 
with apparent enjoyment. You think it must 
be some transparent gelatine, but you pick 
up a bit that has fallen from his mouth, and 
it is real glass. 

Meanwhile, the two dervishes, one of them a 
little fellow of not more than fifteen, are still 

90 



IN BOHEMIA 

whirling on the same spot where they began 
an hour ago. 

All around you the windows are filled with 
weird, uncanny faces, some veiled to the eyes, 
applauding with hisses and grunts the feats of 
the fakirs. Children of all ages and sizes 
squat around the edge of the matting, which 
constitutes the stage. Everybody squats in 
the Orient. To sit down in the dirt of the 
roadside is quite the fashionable thing with 
the lower orders. 

The performance is over at about one- 
thirty A. M., and you drive to the Sphynx, 
which is the Rector's of Cairo, and you have 
your salad and beer, engineered by an Ameri- 
can but prepared and served by Frenchmen. 
Past the door of your private room, you see 
the flitting of French feathers, you hear the 
chatter of French voices, and you wonder 
where their escorts are. No, you don't. You 
know where they are, for they have come there 
for them, but you wonder who they are. It 
is three o'clock, and so you hasten to your 
hotel — perhaps. 
91 



THE FIRST FLIRTATION 

Time — The Beginning Place — Paradise 

D7'amatis Fersonts 

Sir Adam O'Sullivan A Florist 

Mile. Eve d'Enpassant A Soubrette 

In the blissful bower of Eden, 

Several thousand years ago, 
Man was made, of dust and water. 

So his name was " Mud," you know. 
But, against a fence they placed him, 

And they baked him in the sun. 
So " A Brick " became old Adam, 

When the sixth day's work was done. 
Then, one evening, while reclining 

'Neath a spreading tree, at rest, 

92 



IN BOHEMIA 

They performed an operation, 

Underneath his fig-leaf vest. 
They cocained his little riblet, 

And they took it quite away, 
To produce a lovely woman, 

So that Adam could get gay. 
And he did— When first he spied her, 

He took off his fig-leaf hat 
And exclaimed: "Ah! There! Me Daisy! 

Eve replied from where she sat: 
" Eef I am not mooch meestaken, 

An' I do not teenk I am, 
Ees zee zhentleman beefore me, 

Zee proprietaire. Ad-dam?" 

" Thot's moi name," responded Adam, 
" An' Oi'm verry plased to shtate 
You're half-owner in this garrden, 
Frum this verry day an' date." 
" Shall I haf zee lofely pleasure, 

Zat you make on me a call?" 
" Oi'll be there at six, me darlin', 
Thrunk an' hat-box, grip an' all." 



93 



IN BOHEMIA 

Then the lady answered softly: 
" Pray, excoose me sare, I beg, 
Eef, on veray short acquaintance, 

Zat I seem to pool your leg, 
Eef eet ees you mean housekeeping, 

Zare ees mooch I mus' procure. 
Can you let me haf ten dollare? 

I mus' see zee manicure, 
An' zee, w'at you call — zee coiffeur, 

I mus' haf some chocolate. 
An' — Oh! Zare ees many trifles, 

W'ich zee lady, up to date. 
Need to make herself attractive 

To zee paragon of men. 
Come to teenk, I shall need twenty, 

Eef you please, anozzer ten." 

Howly Murther!" shouted Adam, 
" Do ye think Oi'm goin' ter pay 
All me money out fer nonsinse, 

In that million airish way? 
Oi'm no King o' Frinzied Fynance. 

Oi'm the man behind the hoe. 
An' Oi've run behind at poker, 

94 



IN BOHEMIA 

At the club, a wake or so, 
But that's only timporary, 

An' Oi'm no fynanshul Wreck, 
If ye r'ally need some thrifles, 

Oi kin wroite ye out a check." 

"No, sare, please. I know zat beezness, 
I haf had zee checks beefore. 
An' zey always make zee laughter. 

Wen I show zem in zee store. 
In zee pawn-shop, veray easy, 
Wiz your fig-leaf ovarecoat. 
You shall get, w'ile I am waiting, 

One, two, three ten-dollare note. 
Zen you gif to me zee teecket, 

An' you know, wizout a doubt, 

Eef zee wezzer, he grow coldare, 

I weel queeckly take him out." 

" Well! Oi loike yer nerve," said Adam, 
But he couldn't quite refuse, 
And her stunning Easter bonnet, 

She permitted him to choose. 
Down to us, through all the ages. 
Come the customs of the past, 

95 



IN BOHEMIA 

Puppy love and youthful folly, 

Both of them too sweet to last. 
And each Spring our modern fancies 

Lightly turn to thoughts of love, 
Just as, in that ancient garden. 

Billed and cooed the turtle-dove. 
But the moral of the story 

Is an easy one to note, 
That in Spring, a young man always 

Pawns his Winter overcoat. 




96 



THE LAMBS' CLUB 

For true, broad-minded, legitimate Bohe- 
mianism, the Lambs' Club stands for the 
Simon-pure, real thing. A glance over its 
membership roll shows men who " do some- 
thing " to a greater degree than that of any 
other club in New York. It is to New York 
what the Savage Club is to London, and the 
Bohemian Club to San Francisco. At their 
monthly gambols, the personelle is almost 
always a delight. Stars of the stage and lead- 
ing men are there without the glamour of the 
footlights, but in their own pleasing person- 
ality. 

Artists of renown, musicians of note, mana- 
gers, composers, maestros, millionaires, and 
all-around good fellows gather together to 
applaud the work of their fellow creatures and 
creators. There are no set faces saying to 
the workers: 
97 



IN BOHEMIA 

"Make me laugh, if you can." "I'd like 
to see you interest me." They are there in the 
spirit of Bohemian brotherhood, and eager to 
enjoy. 

The waiting list is a long one, and the club 
has reached the point where it is a recognized 
honour to be elected to membership, and a 
matter for congratulation, if your name is, for 
one reason or another, placed high up on the 
waiting list. 

The actor is proverbially Bohemian, and 
while the Lambs embrace all the arts, and 
while painting, sculpture, music, and litera- 
ture are vigorously represented on the roster, 
the actor has given it unmistakably the touch 
that is recognized as Bohemian. The plan 
of the present club-house fosters the idea, and 
the plans for the new one are intended to 
preserve it. There is only a step between 
bar and billiard-table, and only another step 
to the grillroom. 

It is not an uncommon sight to see half a 
dozen men sitting around a table, each one of 
whom, to put it paradoxically, stands alone 

98 



IN BOHEMIA 

in his chosen profession. While the spirit 
of bon camaraderie is always in the air, it is 
perhaps most apparent at the supper-table, 
after the gambol which takes place once a 
month. The Shepherd, Mr. Clay Green, who 
has practically made the club his life-work, 
during the past few years, presides, and his 
well-chosen words announce such speakers 
or singers as may be best fitted to entertain 
and amuse or interest. When such men as 
DeWolf Hopper, Wilton Lackaye, Nat Good- 
win, Gus Thomas, and William H. Crane 
begin to exchange witticisms, it is safe to say 
that two and three o'clock finds you still loath 
to depart. 

The objects of the club as set forth in the 
club-book seem prosaic enough, but they 
mean much more than the simple words im- 
ply. Perhaps a better idea of the spirit of 
the club can be gained from the following 
verses, which were read at the laying of the 
corner-stone of the new club-house on Forty- 
fourth Street, than from the Book of By- 
laws. 

99 LdrC. 



IN BOHEMIA 

A Prophecy 

As when the sower strides across the land, 

The harrowed earth beneath his sturdy tread, 
And from the seed he scatters from his hand, 

The golden harvest proudly rears its head, 
So shall the records of a glad to-day, 

Set close within this temple's very heart, 
Dispel to-morrow's clouds and shadows gray 

And through the future play their silent 
part. 

Around this votive stone, for many a year. 

Shall cluster those who come for good in- 
tent; 
Learning to love, within its atmosphere. 

This temple to the man-child's merriment. 
Our sun of life may set, within the year, 

The hour-glass drop its last remaining sands. 
But reared with smiles and christened with a 
tear 

The home of happiness for ever stands. 

Not left behind is any memory sweet, 
Nor do ye leave associations fond, 

100 



IN BOHEMIA 

Here, as of yore, shall tread, with silent feet, 
The friends whose souls have sought the 
Great Beyond. 
They bridge the distance 'twixt the bygone 
years 
And those that shall be, like a guiding hand. 
Arming your strength and quieting your fears. 
And cheering onward those who take com- 
mand. 

Above the lintel of each door, we read 

The old Greek maxim: "Know Thyself," 
and more — 
" Be True," and these alone shall build a creed 

Of greater worth than tomes of ancient lore. 
Let laughter, song, and joyous gifts of words, 

Find every crevice, as the golden glow 
Of summer sunbeams finds the woodland 
birds. 

And floods with music all the earth below. 

Here stands the incarnate proof of deeds well 
done. 
Good-fellowship uplifts the crown to bless 
101 



IN BOHEMIA 

The standard-bearers, with their laurels won, 
Whose names enrolled, bespeak the word: 
" Success." 
Small need for praise, in this auspicious hour, 
For those who have so ably played their 
parts, 
To them is given a nobler, richer dower. 
The beating pulse and throb of grateful 
hearts. 

Here buoyant life and youth spring forth anew. 
Full armed to vanquish serried ranks of 
care, 
The hand-clasp firm of those who dare and 
do 
Half-way meets those who bravely do and 
dare. 
Heaven's blessings fall upon this home of 
mirth, 
Joy linger in the heart of all its tears. 
And friendship's bond, the best there is of 
earth. 
Be strengthened and reborn through all the 
years. 

102 



Sautetne 



A little wine," the Bible 



says, 
"Just for the stomach's 
sake," 
But it is really sinful 
To take away a skinful, 
A quart or two is quite 
enough to take. 




Ji five thousand, dollar portrait ought to 
flatter a bit " 



CLAREMONT FOR BRJ^AKFAST 

Sunday is ordered a day of rest, and that 
doesn't mean swearing at a refractory stud or 
chasing a collar-button with profanity in 
order to reach morning prayers on time. 
To sleep your sleep out, have your coffee, and 
browse through the papers of a Sunday morn- 
ing, and then to leisurely saunter over to 
Durland's and jump into a saddle, enter the 
park at Sixty-sixth Street and follow the 
bridle-path until Claremont invites you, is a 
much better prelude to the true spirit of the 
Sabbath than a stiff-backed pew and the 
glance of envious eyes when a particularly 
stunning bonnet passes down the aisle. 
Planked shad in season, with the roes scat- 
tered about on the plank, awaken your deepest 
devotion. They do know how to cook it up 
there, and their sweetbreads and mushrooms 
on toast are a delight to the soul. 
105 



IN BOHEMIA 

You are not obliged to go there on horse- 
back. That was only suggested in case you 
might prefer it to the cocktail as an appetizer. 
It is quicker and quite acceptable to go there 
in an economical way. Take the subway and 
whizz past the dark stations, suddenly emerg- 
ing into the Sabbath morning sunlight as 
though you had been born again. 

Dismount — no — alight, I had forgotten you 
were not on horseback, at One Hundred and 
Tenth Street, and take the short walk up the 
hill. At twelve o'clock you will say: "How 
foolish to come here! There's nobody about." 
But at twelve-fifteen, you will exclaim: "How 
bully! Everybody is here." 

That distinguished-looking man, with the 
iron-gray, wiry hair, is Thaddeus, the artist 
who painted both Leo and Pius from sittings 
at the Vatican, and wonderful pictures they 
are, too. There's a lady two tables away whom 
he painted awhile ago, but they don't speak. 
She said the picture wasn't fair, and he said 
he " knew " it was right. But a five thousand 
dollar portrait ought to flatter a bit. 

106 



IN BOHEMIA 

That beautiful pair of eyes with the Paris 
creation as a framework is a countess now, 
but three months ago — well! "Ten thou- 
sand pounds in your hand if you marry in a 
year," said her sweetheart, and they say she 
paid over the ten thousand for an earl, just 
for spite. But it makes her interesting, doesn't 
it? 

There's May Irwin with her two big boys. 
She has just published a cook-book that is 
half jokes, half receipts, and two-thirds mar- 
gin for adding recipes as you fall heir to 
them. 

There are two pretty girls just coming up 
the road on horseback. One of them is rid- 
ing astride, and it proves beyond all doubt 
that astride is the way to ride, at any rate for 
a woman of her figure. In a victoria just 
passing them is a well-known personage, if 
your picture in the Sunday papers creates a 
personage. She purloined the cher ami of one 
of the ladies on horseback last, week, and in 
a fit of desperation the lady took the law into 
her own hands and played havoc with the 
107 



IN BOHEMIA 

hair of the personage. Even the parson at the 
corner table is showing interest. These things 
do make people glad they came in spite of the 
fact that they smack a little of sensational- 
ism. 

There's a little story that goes with nearly 
every table. Some are comic and some are 
tragic, but they keep up the interest. Try 
Claremont for breakfast — some Sunday morn- 
ing. It's Bohemian. 

The cheerful-faced gentleman over there is 
Bert Stadelman, the chairman of the building 
committee of the new Lambs' Club. There's 
no doubt of his Bohemianism. He may com- 
bine business with pleasure, for that is a fifty- 
dollar breakfast, but why not? There are two 
lambs, a shepherd, two millionaires, a com- 
poser, and an author at the table. That ought 
to be interesting. 



108 




THE POINT OF VIEW 



There's a griffin, set high on that cornice there, 

On that towering pile of stone. 
And a lion, rampant, at either end, 

Stands guarding his corner alone. 
As you gaze aloft at that dizzy height, 

They grin, with a lifelike glee. 
And you think: "The sculptor, who carved 
that stone. 

What a wondrous man is he!" 
But climb with me to that cornice high. 

And speechless will be your tongue; 
They might have been carved by an Aztec 
child. 

In the days when the world was young. 
So rough and so rugged those faces grim, 
109 



IN BOHEMIA 

Of the griffin and lions bold; 
" Chance held the chisel," you murmur low, 

And the length of the tale is told. 
But back of those blocks stood a thinking 
mind. 
Which knew what was best to do, 
For it said: "What the world may say or 
think, 
Depends on the point of view." 

The wicked young man of the Orient, 

With a dozen dainty wives. 
We say, in this civilized, Christianized land. 

Is making a wreck of their lives, 
And we send to him quickly a godly man. 

At a rate that is easy to fix, 
And say he is doing a glorious work, 

If he brings him down to six. 
There are sermons in stones. There are 
prayers let fall. 

Sometimes with an oath each side. 
We never should say: " 'Tis a silver shield," 

For it may be of gold, inside. 



110 



IN BOHEMIA 

If whatever I touch, when it leaves my hand, 

Is cleaner than when it came, 
I can look the whole world straight in the face 

And feel no blush of shame. 

If an Angelo, in the chiselled stone, 

Can bid the pulses start; 
If Correggio, with immortal brush, 

Can send a glow to the heart, 
Is the throb and thrill of human life 

So shocking, so vile a thing. 
That we must, to-day, to Diana's bath, 

A modern mantle bring? 
Some souls, no doubt, live nearer God, 

Where the heart of Nature sings, 
Each bird and cloud and sunbeam fair 

Sweet peace, as tribute, brings. 
We potters that model in city clay 

Must mould as it comes to our hands. 
Not " What we need," " What we want," is 
the cry. 

We answer to these demands. 

The text of the preacher in Timbuctoo 
And that of some great divine 
111 



IN BOHEMIA 

Are wide apart as the poles of the earth, 
But which will the brighter shine? 

The words of the one may beckon sleep, 
While the preacher of Timbuctoo 

May pluck from the fire a burning brand — 
It depends on the point of view. 



I have written songs of a soulful kind, 

Unprinted they still remain; 
Have voiced some love-lorn madrigals, 

Begotten in pleasant pain; 
Have sung a few brief lullabys. 

And mothers have said, " How sweet! " 
Have written hymns for the Sunday school; 

I have, hungry, walked the street; 
I have taken a mythologic tale 

And placed it in rhyming verse; 
I have tried to make it clearer, because 

It couldn't be very much worse; 
I have measured its wording carefully. 

And scanned every halting line. 
Then sent it forth, and the verdict was: 
"Say! When can you come and dine?" 

112 



IN BOHEMIA 

So, I'd rather live in the heart of my friends, 

And smile, while life is sweet, 
Than lay up treasures in some fair land. 

While, living, I walk the street. 
And the question comes : " If you do your 
best. 

What else is there left to do?" 
Oh! If only the world would learn to say: 
"It depends on the Point of View." 



A VERY UNUSUAL GIRL 

Her eyes were like the Summer pearls, 

From oysters' bosoms drawn. 
Her teeth were like red roses sweet. 

Her nose was like the dawn. 
Her great broad smile was fondly fair, 

Her ripe, red ears were small. 
Her little shoes were full of feet. 

I love her best of all. 

At night, when sunlight, stars, and moonSj 

Are twinkling in the sky, 
113 



IN BOHEMIA 



We meet beneath the farmyard wall, 

My own true love and I. 
And when the heavy, sullen clouds 

Their beams of light let fall. 
She flies to me with measured tread. 

I love her best of all. 

Some day, not far, perhaps in years, 

We two shall married be, 
And on the swelling waves of love. 

Drift toward eternity. 
And in that land beyond the sky, 

Where song and sunbeams dwell, 
It's ten to one my usual luck 

Will make my life a hell. 



Be slow to anger, but hit hard and hit first 
— if you have to. 

'Tis better to love and run away than never 
to have loved at all. 

114 



lEntvu 




Between Whites 




M Chinatown Belle' 



SLUMMING IN CHINATOWN 

There is a sinister gleam in the eye of a 
Chinaman, and a sneaky tread about his cush- 
ioned shoes that make him a fascinating 
object in about the same way that a pug dog 
is beautiful to the eye. You can't quite explain 
it, but you always look twice. It is a mis- 
taken idea, however, that they live on rats 
and mice, and that their every-day dessert is 
a fricasseed bird's nest. 

The Chinatown of New York is not the 
Chinatown of San Francisco, and yet it is 
big enough to afford much pleasure to the ob- 
serving. Two-thirds of the Chinese population 
are absolutely cleanly. 

The usual procedure in visiting Chinatown 

is to take the Fourth Avenue car, alighting at 

Chatham Square, and a party of four is about 

right. For a party of four can get lost in 

117 



IN BOHEMIA 

a crowd without attracting the attention 
which follows the usual sightseer. The 
Chinese play at the Chinese theatre, which 
you will probably visit first, usually takes 
several months to complete the story, which 
is apt to be a part of Chinese history. Part 
of the audience sits on the stage with the 
players and part of it sits on the back of 
the wooden benches, with their hats on their 
heads, smoking innumerable cigarettes. The 
banging of gongs, the pounding on cymbals, 
the squeak of the Chinese voice, and the 
general buzz of conversation, make a bedlam 
of the place that is not soon forgotten. They 
are simply marvellous in the manner of paint- 
ing their faces and in their wonderful make- 
ups, and the men who play the parts of women 
are inimitable. After a half or three quarters 
of an hour in the theatre, it is natural to drop 
into the Joss House, where an attending priest 
is very glad to receive your tip, and an 
additional one for burning some perfumed 
sticks in front of an impossible god, and 
another tip for telling your fortune by shak- 

118 



IN BOHEMIA 

ing out some well-worn bamboos on his knees 
in front of the great altar, telling your fortune 
with wondrous precision, which usually ends 
up with a happy marriage and lots of money, 
so you have not wasted your half-dollar. 
Then, if you pick out the right Chop Suey 
House, you will find that the kitchen is in plain 
sight, and the copper vessels are burnished 
so that they shine like mirrors, the meats and 
vegetables are spread out on the cleanest of 
pine tables, so that you may know exactly 
what you are getting, and that it is abso- 
lutely clean and neat. Then you go into a little 
private room attended by a polite Chinese boy, 
who says witty things for you, and you par- 
take of inimitable tea in quaint cups and sau- 
cers, with inverted saucers over the tops of 
the cups to keep the steaming fragrance within 
so that you can taste it. You see the large tea- 
leaves floating in the boiling water, and you 
get personally acquainted with it before it 
tickles your palate. Then comes the Chop 
Suey, which is usually the piece de resistance, 
and Heaven knows what mysterious side dishes 
119 



IN BOHEMIA 

accompany it. Although the Chinese are sup- 
posed to live very cheaply, they manage to 
charge you twenty-five cents a portion for 
Lychee nuts and twenty-five cents a cup for 
tea, if you have satisfied them you want the 
best, and if you really get curious and want to 
taste shark fins, the tariff jumps to two dol- 
lars. If you are in touch with a detective in 
the neighbourhood, he probably will take you 
where you can see people hitting the pipe, 
but these opium-smoking layouts are very 
apt to be fakes. I found a very interesting 
case one night, where a very pretty white 
girl, with an attractive manner, was indulging 
in an evening of opium-smoking with the 
Chinese partner of her Chinese husband. She 
had proceeded far enough in the opium-smok- 
ing to believe that some one had put a curse 
upon her, and that by deadening her sensi- 
bilities she could tide over the time until the 
curse ran out. The Chinese partner was the 
soul of courtesy to her, and there was really 
as much decorum in his attitude toward the 
lady as you find when the minister called for 

120 



IN BOHEMIA 

tea with Mrs. Highflyer. A strip of matting 
had been thrown across a very neat bed, and at 
the side of the bed a diagonal table held the 
layout. The Chinese partner would cook a 
little pill of opium, place it on the bowl of the 
pipe, and, after puffing it to the proper point, 
would hand it to the lady, after wiping the 
mouthpiece, and she would take a few puffs, 
handing it back to him. After a few inhala- 
tions, he would pass it back to her. Neither of 
them went into a comatose condition while 
we were there. It is, of course, the natural 
thing to buy souvenirs, silk handkerchiefs, 
beads, ivory back-scratchers, carved figures in 
ivory, and one would think, from the supply on 
hand, that all the inhabitants of Japan carved 
ivory day and night to supply the souvenir 
hunters. You can do Chinatown very nicely 
and be at home before one o'clock in the 
morning. 



121 



OVER. THE ROSE 

The rose lay soft in her two pink palms, 

As red as the lips above it, 
And the petals seemed to ask an alms, 

As she leaned to kiss and love it. 
It gave its fragrance and beauty, too, 

To the lips that bent to press it, 
Its life went out and its hour was through, 

When she cared not to caress it. 

It laid unnoticed, a breathing space, 

A broken thing, neglected. 
And then, across her fair, young face. 

Regret was swift reflected. 
I am so sorry," murmured she, 
" Poor, shattered, faded flower." 
And on her warm heart, tenderly, 

It nestled for an hour. 

122 




OUT OF THE LONG AGO 



He had loved her mother in the long ago, 

but the infatuation of a day had become the 

regret of a lifetime for the mother whose 

pride and ambition had outstepped her reason, 

123 



IN BOHEMIA 

and the man of principle had been forced to 
step aside for the man of dash. 

Then came a few hours of excitement, mis- 
taken for happiness, while the glamour lasted 
for the woman. 

Then the child came and then neglect and 
then severity. Brutality would have followed, 
in course of time, but merciful death inter- 
vened, and the man of principle came out of 
his seclusion and sorrow and came forward 
first with aid, then with sympathy, and finally 
with a protection so free from selfishness 
that it won in the heart of the woman the 
place he should have occupied in the long 
ago. 

But he could not forget that he had been 
denied the first full fragrance of what he had 
thought the fairest flower in Love's garden. 
He could not say: " Give me the remnants 
of your shattered dreams." 

And so the years had come and gone, and 
he had found a sad, sweet satisfaction in the 
companionship of the woman, and he had rec- 
ognized, at times, the wistful look in the eyes, 

124 



IN BOHEMIA 

and had answered it with a tenderness that 
only partly masked his stern resolve. 

In the short vacations, when the child had 
come home from the convent, it had warmed 
his heart to see the little bud, nurtured by him, 
unfolding in the likeness of the blossom he 
had loved, and when, at last, the mother's eyes 
were closed in the last long sleep, he went 
away, still faithful to the dream of the lonq^ 
ago. 

Each week he made it a pleasure, as well as 
a duty, to give the child a record of his wan- 
derings, and each week she opened her heart 
to him in the fulness of her girlish confidence, 
and told him all there was to tell of the sor- 
rows and joys of her young life. 

And he, from afar, began to notice that the 
cramped and studied handwriting was taking 
on an easier flow. The methods of expression 
were rounding out, and her protestations of 
affection were becoming more delicately subtle, 
until, by day and night, a desire beset him 
to return and see with his own eyes if the 
promises of childhood had been fulfilled. 
125 



IN BOHEMIA 

" It shall be my duty to find for her a worthy 
mate. She must not make her mother's mis- 
take," he repeated over and over again to 
himself. 

But when all the splendour of her youth 
and beauty and wealth of colour and vivacity, 
her strangely blended harmony of wit and 
thoughtfulness, became apparent to him, he 
found it hard to decide, among those about 
her, which should meet encouragement at his 
hands. He placed her in surroundings that 
were befitting; called her his "Little Queen," 
and became in a half-jesting way a courtier 
in her train. 

Christmas, New Year's, and Easter, as well 
as birthdays, were gala-days for him, for then 
he might count upon three distinct throbs of 
happiness: the planning, the giving, and her 
receiving. It was all so sweet and so hope- 
less. He found himself regretting the white 
hairs at his temples, not because they were 
unbecoming, for they softened an otherwise 
stern face, but because they told of the years 
that made the barrier. 

126 



IN BOHEMIA 

Then came the time when, with a pain at 
the heart but with a smile on his face, he 
found that he must say " Yes " to the suitor 
who sought her, and then, feverishly, he 
waited. 

Each day seemed longer than the one before 
it until, at last, in stammering words, he 
asked if nothing had been said. 

And it was not a child who answered him, 
but a woman, speaking from the fulness of 
her heart and with all the knowledge that 
comes with the subtle intuitions of women, 
like a gift from God. 

"Oh, Nunky! Don't you think I know? 
Don't you think I see? Don't you think I 
feel and care? Yes. He asked me. And I 
wanted to strike him. I don't know why. 
Yes, I do. He would have put his arm around 
me, deliberately, consciously, because he had 
your permission to seek me, and I hated him. 
Yours is about me now, and you hardly know 
it, because it belongs there, and I want to 
kiss you. All that I ever hope to find of 
honour and integrity and all that goes to make 
127 



IN BOHEMIA 

a man a woman's ideal I find in you. Now 
do you understand? Now do you know how 
I want to show you that the gratitude of the 
child can become the love of the woman?" 

But he could only say, in husky tones: 
" Thirty years, my child, thirty years." 

And she could only answer: "Your heart 
is younger than his. Your life is whiter than 
his. Could anything make a woman happier 
than to feel that a young heart and a white 
life were her own to worship and adore and to 
follow? " 

And then, all the pent-up love and tender- 
ness and passion of his mature years swept 
'round her like a tide. All the fragrance of h^r 
opening heart filled his life and soul, and 

Love is love, though the skies may fall. 
Hearts have no birthdays, after all. 



128 



idt{ 




The R.oast 




Ji Daughter of Little Hungary 



LITTLE HUNGARY AND THE 
BOULEVARD 

There was a time when Little Hungary at 
the Cafe Liberty and the Boulevard were 
interesting, but that was before they became 
show places. Notoriety kills the true Bohe- 
mian atmosphere. It is when things are 
primitive and natural and sweet that the spirit 
of Bohemia satisfies. 

In the old days, when the Cafe Liberty did 
not mean unnecessary liberties, and when 
dinner was served down in the long aisles 
between the vats, and your wine was siphoned 
out of a bung-hole with a rubber tube, and 
when each party had the particular attention 
of the chef, then it was worth while. Even 
the orchestra, which did sp much for the 
Boulevard, has moved up-town now, and holds 
forth at the Cafe des Ambassadeurs. The 
President's visit to Little Hungary was a boom 
for it, of course, but it has changed from the 
131 



IN BOHEMIA 

genuine Bohemia to the artificial. The mo- 
ment you try to make a place Bohemian you 
are pretty sure to make it common. Both 
these places have become wholesale suppliers 
of the cheap table d'hote, with the Hungarian 
wines that made them famous now manu- 
factured on the premises, if the statements of 
some of those high in authority are to be 
believed. 

It used to take two or three hours to prop- 
erly attend to the menu. Now you can rush 
through in half an hour, thanks to the mechan- 
ical improvements in the way of dish-washing 
machines, automatic knife polishers, and extra 
waiters. Then, too, the novelty has worn 
off. To the visitor from Kalamazoo it is still 
noisy enough and bustling enough to satisfy. 
Some people love to wait and fight and 
clamour for a table, and are jubilant for a 
whole evening if a half-dollar tip secures it 
ten minutes sooner than it would have come 
naturally. 

But here, as elsewhere, the right spirit 
often asserts itself and good-fellowship reigns 

132 



IN BOHEMIA 

supreme. Adjoining tables get sociable and 
finally unite around one table to get better 
acquainted. The sour wines and ghostly 
soup, the thin slabs of thin fish, the spaghetti 
and the Parmesan cheese of Bohemia, are all 
there, so of course it must be Bohemia. 




133 



THE BACHELOR TAX 

Are not the laws of life sufficiently unjust? 
Or must all bachelors join an anti-nuptial 
trust? 

Because they fail to wed, ye call their morals 

lax, 
And at each level head the spinsters aim a tax. 

In other words, the girl, whose charms begin 

to fade. 
First, takes her little whirl, then sniffes to be 

paid. 

For, if the tax comes in, collected by the state. 
Of course it will go out to girls without a 
mate. 

And, given bread and meat and one new dress 
a season, 

134 



IN BOHEMIA 

What girl would wed at all, for that's the 
usual reason? 

Why, bachelors are taxed. Each Tiffany wed- 
ding-card, 

That gluts his morning mail, not only hits him 
hard 

For ladles, jugs, and lamps, cream-pitchers, 
silver spoons, 

But kills his faith in friends, when lovers act 
like loons. 

He's taxed by Mrs. Smith, who bids him to her 
tea. 

He's taxed by Mr. Smith, who strikes him for 
a "V." 

He's taxed by Mrs. Brown, whose overtures 
perplex, 

He's taxed by Mr. Brown, who needs a tran- 
sient "X." 

He's taxed by Mrs. Jones, who has two buxom 
girls, 

And crams them down his throat, until his 
reason whirls. 
135 



IN BOHEMIA 

He's taxed by husbands gay, who come to him 

and cry: 
" I said I was with you. Will you back up the 

lie?" 
He's taxed at dinner-time, with partners that 

don't suit. 
Two hours of senseless gush, then, carriage 

hire to boot. 
And other trifling things, not quite worth while 

to note, 
When valets tax him with the powder on his 

coat. 
No! Let the bachelor dream his vision celi- 
bate. 
The aftermath of joy will catch him, soon or 

late. 

And when, rotund and rich, white-haired and 

getting old. 
At last, he finds the bud, just ready to be sold. 
Then comes the tax supreme, with many a 

bitter hurt, 
He stays at home with gout and growls, 

"How she can flirt!" 

136 



SLUMMING 

Slumming usually means paying a price to 
see others do things you wouldn't do your- 
self for the world, and which perhaps they 
wouldn't do except for the price you pay. It 
is probably a perverted curiosity, but it has 
been done since the world began, and will be 
done until we all stand on the ragged head- 
lands of the eternal future reading the story 
of our lives with too much light from the lurid 
flames. But why anticipate? 

Just where to draw the line at sightseeing 
is a difficult problem. Often, with the health- 
iest intent, we find the undercrust of life very 
brown, and again, with malice aforethought, 
we seek the unusual and come home with a 
lesson learned of patience, industry, or resigna- 
tion. The involuntary resident of the slums 
is blameless, and therefore should be free 
from prying eyes, and the voluntary resident 

137 



IN BOHEMIA 

is sure to prepare a fake which does not show 
you the " low Hfe " which you are seeking. 
Some of the boys of sixty-eight or thereabouts 
slum regularly. They have to sow wild oats 
regularly to reap the harvest when going on 
tears. Others slum at home. Whether the 
experiences of slumming expeditions accen- 
tuate optimism by contrast is a moot point. 
If it creates a desire for frequent repetition, 
it may prove that pessimism is contagious. 

You may take your choice, but in one case, 
at least, you " pays your money," and plenty 
of it. 



A man is known by the company he keeps — 
especially a theatrical manager. 



A soft answer turneth away wrath — unless 
the wrath is about money. 

138 



etftump^am 




Champagne ! Champagne ! 
The peasant girls' im- 
prisoned laughter, 
So they say. 

Champagne! Champagne! 
But what about the 
morning after, 
And all next day? 




The Morning Jifter 



BOHEMIANISM AT MADISON SQUARE 

At intervals Bohemianism becomes epidemic 
in the vicinity of Madison Square. The beau- 
tiful tower is ablaze with lights which show 
the chaste Diana in her scanty garb at the top, 
but underneath are goddesses of the genus 
Venus, almost as scantily clothed, but different, 
very different in disposition from the cold 
Diana. The chilly and virtuous hunter of 
the stag personified at the top of the tower 
is eclipsed by the painted and bedizened 
hunters of the wine-openers on the floors be- 
low. 

The Arion Ball is the most pretentious of 
these Bohemian epidemics, for the expense 
incurred in the matter of allegorical floats 
makes a good excuse for the attendance of 
many who would not dream of attending the 
ball of the French Students, or the Circle de 
Harmonie, or the Ball of the French Cooks, 
141 



IN BOHEMIA 

and might even draw the Hne at the Patri- 
arch's Ball. 

On the massive floats at the Arion Ball, 
hundreds of women are betighted in silk, and 
hundreds more are betighted in the boxes, 
but this does not become apparent until after 
the so-called respectable element has departed 
somewhere near midnight. To the uninitiated 
eye there is something eminently respectable 
about the motherly lady of broad dimensions, 
in a pink or black domino, vigorously chaper- 
oned by a sable Ethiope in the back of the 
box, and around her, clucking vigorously, you 
will find a brood of (shall we say?) little chicks 
in all their guileless innocence, not always 
waiting for formal introductions before in- 
dulging in ad libitum conversations with 
generous strangers. The scene on the floor 
of the garden is a surging crowd throwing 
paper rolls and confetti into the air, but not 
always into the air, for much of it is carried 
away from the place in quarters not abso- 
lutely unapproachable through the misapplied 
energy of hilarious visitors. The sight on 

142 



IN BOHEMIA 

the floor, however, is not as intense as some 
of the sights to be seen in the wine-room, 
where corks are popping and glasses are siz- 
zing and tongues growing thicker with each 
succeeding round of what they call the im- 
prisoned laughter of the peasant girls of 
France. And even the scenes in the wine- 
room are occasionally discounted by some 
of the happenings in the shadows of some of 
the upper boxes. A casual stroll along some 
of the corridors, where the box doors have 
been left open by chance or design, becomes 
a sort of vivid biograph. 

At just what hour Bohemianism steps out 
and Revelry steps in, it would be difficult to 
state, each box party often being a law unto 
itself. In the old days, before the district 
attorney insisted upon complimentary tickets 
for the police, the flash of silk tights has been 
seen tripping the entire length of the building 
on the dress-coated shoulders of enthusiastic 
revellers, but the wild spirit of old King Carni- 
val has given way in recent years to the more 
sophoric charms of Bacchus, There are many 
143 



IN BOHEMIA 

good Bohemians who would sniff disdainfully 
at the after midnight performance at some of 
these balls, and there are others who would 
consider it an unpardonable sin to leave the 
place before daybreak. Even in mighty Wall 
Street on the day after these prodigious affairs, 
there is apt to be a twinkle in the eye of 
business men as they meet, and omitted cigars 
and overlooked luncheons are the order of the 
day, while " A little absinthe, please," be- 
speaks a shortage in recuperative powers. 
Some get the habit and go to them all, but 
they die early and die poor. 




Mind your own business . 



144 



A TOAST TO THE MAN»S MAN 

Ah! drink if you will to the handsome man. 

O'er the proud athlete undaunted, 
And toast him too, the husband true, 

Whose faith has long been vaunted. 
And drink to the strong and manly man, 

But lift your glasses higher. 
When the toasts ring out, in a merry shout. 

For the man that men admire. 

Aye! drink to the loyal, faithful man. 

Who will fight for the right for ever, 
Who will strive for his friends, till the old 
world ends, 

With a firm and strong endeavour. 
Drink long and deep, with a royal toast. 

Ne'er writ by a poet's pen, 
Drink night and day, if his friends all say 

He is loved by his fellow men. 
145 



IN BOHEMIA 

And drink if you will to the man who stands 

With the stars and stripes above him 
In the battle strife, and gives his life 

While the men of the nation love him, 
And drink to the man who proudly stands, 

While the lesser men get mellow. 
Till the rafters ring as they rise and sing, 

To the health of a jolly good fellow. 




146 



THEY MET IN THE RAIN 

She was as dainty as dainty could be 

And the size of her boot was less than three. 

The wind was blowing, and so, you see. 

It was hard to make her way. 
Her skirts were buffeted, here and there. 
Her hat was askew, but she didn't care. 
Her cheeks were aglow. She was mightily fair, 

In spite of the rainy day. 

He was as lonesome as lonesome could be 
And he held his umbrella quite carelessly, 
Down over his head, and he couldn't foresee 

The collision ahead that day. 
A shriek and an " Oh! " — an embarrassed pair. 
In the pelting rain, and, standing there. 
He stammered: "I'm sorry, but we can share 

Our lot, on a rainy day." 
147 



IN BOHEMIA 

And he grew as happy as happy could be, 

As he noted the boots that were less than 

three, 
As well as the face that was fak to see. 

And their chatter was blithe and gay. 
The old umbrella is worn threadbare, 
But the children, rushing to school, don't dare 
To take it away from its corner there. 

No matter how rainy the day. 



Every gay dog has his — date. 



Marriage is one fool — encouraging the 
foolishness of another. 

Actions speak louder than words — but look 
out for the echo. 

148 



(KiMtt 




Ji Little Gantey 




One of the Many 



LA VIE PAMSIENNE 

There are as many grades and shades of 
Bohemianism in Paris as there are colours in 
the solar spectrum. 

La Boheme, both the opera and the book, 
reflect faithfully the Bohemia of the work-a- 
day world, where a play accepted at the 
Comedie Francaise meant opportunity to 
borrow rather than direct revenue, or a pic- 
ture on the line meant free meals for a 
season. 

In the Quartier Latin, you will find very 
respectable Bohemian ladies of sixteen to 
forty-eight, who pinch and economize and 
work overhours to gain the sustenance neces- 
sary to live in the atmosphere of art for art's 
sake. Respectable matrons, who copy the 
masters ancient and modern for a pittance, 
rub elbows with befurbelowed grisettes and 
151 



IN BOHEMIA 

cocottes at table d'hotes that quite satisfy for 
a franc or two. 

Typical Bohemia gathers at the Cafe de 
Paris after the theatre, and the beauties you 
have seen at the Moulin Rouge or the Mari- 
gny are there sipping their wines and smoking 
their cigarettes, while intense Frenchmen 
devour them with amorous eyes, forgetful of 
the rest of the world. 

Then there is D'Arneuville and Madrid and 
the Cascade in the Bois where Bohemia be- 
comes a pageant and where the lily-like 
beauties acquire the coleur de rose and plan for 
the more intense Bohemia of later hours. 

No one will refuse to admit that slumming 
in Paris leaves a bad taste in the mouth. 

The demi-monde of Paris impresses you with 
the idea that it will be anything, say anything, 
do anything you wish for a few francs. There 
are no limitations and no restrictions. And 
yet there is a side to the Bohemianism of 
Paris which conveys the idea that there is 
more deviltry in the atmosphere than real 
wickedness. Things that would shock and dis- 

152. 



IN BOHEMIA 

gust anywhere except in Paris, are looked 
upon as naturally in a so-called legitimate line 
of business, and must be seen and paid for 
only in that spirit. 

But for every bit of irregularity which may 
or may not jar upon your senses, Paris offers 
something attractive and clean and artistic and 
delightful as compensation. 

But Paris is certainly feverish. The people 
themselves are hot-headed and impulsive, and 
strangers absorb the same tendency in a few 
days. There is so much to be seen and so 
many things to be done that you jump from 
fiacre to hansom and hansom to brougham 
until you are dizzy. 

Comparing the Bohemian life of London, 
New York, and Paris, you must add exclama- 
tion points to make it American and a lot 
more to make it Parisienne, with a goodly 
number of interrogation marks for contem- 
plation when the fever leaves you. 



153 



THE FIVE SENSES 

A Toast 

With the sense of sight, I greet you, 
In the wine-cup's sparkling glow. 

With the sense of hearing meet you, 
As we clink our glasses — so. 

With the sense of touch, I hail you, 

In a score of little sips; 
With the sense of smell regale you. 

As it lingers on your lips. 

With the sense of taste I toast you, 

As delight steals on apace. 
And the lack of a friend is the ghost you 

Shall feel you may never face. 



154 



THE WAYS OF THE MANICURE MAID 

Many of the manicure parlours have devel- 
oped into cosy corners, half-concealed and 
half -revealed, where hands can be held profes- 
sionally and otherwise, and where 

Toes may telegraph 

To toes that speak again. 

If you listen, which you wouldn't, you 
might catch little bits of this kind: 

" Have you heard — ? " 

"That reminds me." 

" Yes, I heard it." 

" You mustn't do that in business hours." 

" Better make it half -past." 

" I'll telephone if I can get out." 

" I certainly shouldn't go just for the fun 
of it. Life's too short." 

It's a dangerous business, this manicuring, 
155 



IN BOHEMIA 

from whichever side of the cushion you con- 
sider it. The bowl of tinted water is a non- 
conductor part of the time but the magnetic 
currents get started much more rapidly when 

Fingers slim in strong palms trembling 

invite a deeper interest in the home life of her 
who must have some few little sorrows to con- 
fide. 

His home life is very apt to be unsatisfying, 
too, and woman, especially young woman, is 
equipped with a sympathetic heart for a man 
whose home life is unsatisfying. She could 
make it all so different. And likely enough 
she does. 

Man is not made of wood, and manicure 
maids are almost as temperamental as ac- 
tresses. Some of them combine the two pro- 
fessions. 

If I were a wife, and had to send away the 
masseuse or the manicure, I'd send away the 
manicure. She is more subtle, and the spell 
is more lasting, 

156 



IBtmi^taum 




Mbout half the truth 




The Cashier at MacarVs 



THE CASHIER AT MACARI'S 

Had you asked him why he dined so fre- 
quently at Macari's, he would have answered: 
" I don't know. I suppose the service suits 
me. 

And yet the service was not exceptional. 
There were nicks on the edges of the plates 
and the rims of the cups and saucers were 
chipped in many places. 

He always tipped his waiter but never per- 
mitted him to pay his check and bring him the 
change. 

The cashier was not a pretty woman, but she 
had that something which, for lack of a better 
expression, is called " interesting." She 
seemed to have been accustomed to attend- 
ance rather than to attending, and her softly 
spoken " Thank you," bespoke refinement and 
a magnetic personality. Courtney's bow of 
acknowledgment was courteous and devoid of 
patronage. For more than a year this had 
continued, and the regular routine had been 
159 



IN BOHEMIA 

varied only by an occasional " Good evening," 
when she was not preoccupied with her duties 
at the desk. 

For a week or so, Courtney had noticed that 
the flush of colour in her cheeks had gone, 
and dark circles under her eyes suggested lack 
of sleep. He stole an occasional glimpse at 
her from his seat at a corner table, and pic- 
tured her sitting at the bedside of some invalid 
relative or friend, and she somehow felt that 
his thoughts were of her, even though his gaze 
was turned aside when she glanced in his 
direction. 

A sudden pallor brought him to his feet, as 
she clutched at the side of the desk, to save 
herself from falling. 

He sprang forward to save her, but too late. 
Limp and lifeless she had fallen to the floor 
and a little stream of blood trickled across her 
forehead where she had struck the corner of 
the desk. Courtney emptied a glass of water 
on his handkerchief and laid it gently across 
the closed eyes. 

A carriage was called, and she was lifted 

160 



IN BOHEMIA 

into it. The handkerchief remained upon her 
forehead. 

The next day she was not in her accustomed 
place. He asked if she were ill. No one knew. 

When they had unfastened her white linen 
collar, some one had handed to Courtney the 
little brooch which she had worn at her 
throat, and unconsciously he had kept it in his 
hand as the carriage was driven away. At 
the hospital the clerk brusquely informed 
Courtney that the patient had gone away the 
morning after being brought there, and had 
left no address save that of the restaurant. 

At the restaurant he was told that her prepos- 
sessing appearance had been her recommenda- 
tion and her faithful service at the desk had suf- 
ficed to keep for her a position which she had 
filled so acceptably. They had known her ad- 
dress when she came there, but she had moved 
recently and no one knew the new one. 

And so it happened that Courtney began 
to feel that better coffee was served elsewhere, 
and his circumstances being somewhat im- 
proved, he also felt that he need not econo- 

161 



IN BOHEMIA 

mize as rigidly as heretofore, and an a la 
carte dinner began to appeal to him more 
than the table d'hote. 

Macari's was not entirely abandoned, for 
he still had the brooch which must be returned. 
He wondered if she were keeping his handker- 
chief, hoping to thank him as she returned 
it, but Macari's knew her no more, and at last 
he ceased to dine there in the vague hope 
that they might have heard something from 
her. 

In one of the most luxuriant offices in the 
Syndicate Building sat the president of several 
railroads and the prime mover in the most 
skilfully conducted consolidation scheme of 
the century, in the person of William Court- 
ney, who had climbed the ladder of fortune 
in half the time usually allotted even to those 
who not only attain but deserve success. A 
rap on the door of the private office roused 
him from a dream of recollection. He was 
back at Macari's, a struggler again. He was 
a struggler now. He would be, until he died, 
but now he was struggling for others; strug- 

162 



IN BOHEMIA 

gling to give to the many the luxuries he had 
longed for when even the necessities were 
not easy of attainment. 

The boy at the door handed him a card. 
He flicked his cigar from the window, and 
said: "Show the lady in." 

Timidly, though not nervously, a woman 
of some twenty-eight years stepped to the 
desk and handed him an envelope. 

Courtney rose and drew a chair forward 
as he read aloud: 

"My dear Courtney: — If the wear and tear 
of sentiment should ever assail that heart of 
yours, you would turn to me for sonnets to the 
lady's eyebrow. Stocks and bonds are as 
familiar to you as metre and rhyming lines 
to me. Do me a favour, then, and tell Miss 
Van Dyne if these stocks, which have been 
in her trunk for years, are worth the paper 
they are printed on." 

One glance sufficed to bring Courtney to 
his feet. " Miss Van Dyne," — the man of 
wealth and position spoke as eagerly as a 
schoolboy who has won his first prize — 

163 



IN BOHEMIA 

" Miss Van Dyne, you hold in complete pos- 
session here the key to one of the most 
important combinations which has ever baf- 
fled the plutocrats of Wall Street. These 
stocks represent the missing link in a chain 
which will make you as rich as you could 
choose to be. For months we have sought in 
vain for the holder of these certificates. We 
had traced them to a young lady who was once 
a cashier at Macari's. They were transferred 
to her by a distant relative. The accrued 
dividends and interest make it a matter of a 
few hours' work with your scissors to own a 
railroad or build a town, if you should so wish." 

The young woman had started forward, and, 
as he finished, she gasped, breathlessly: "Is 
it really, really true?" 

She almost staggered forward, grasping as 
she did so the corner of Courtney's desk. 
Something in the movement brought back 
another such spasmodic grasp in the long 
ago. Something in the pallor of her face and 
expression of her eyes brought back as by a 
lightning flash that evening at Macari's. 

164 



IN BOHEMIA 

For an instant no word was spoken. Across 
the stretch of years the threads of memory 
were knitting together into the warp and 
woof of recollection. 

Then Courtney, turning to a little drawer 
in his desk, took out the little brooch. 

" See," he said. " It has been my talisman. 
At first I carried it with me, simply in the hope 
of meeting you, that I might return it, but as 
weeks and months flew by, and as success after 
success crowned my efforts, and disappoint- 
ment attended the few times when it was not 
with me, I grew superstitious, until no trans- 
action of importance has taken place in my 
business career unless this little brooch was 
within reach of my hand; but now — " and 
he held it between his thumb and finger as 
though to drop it in her hand. 

Placing both hands behind her, Miss Van 
Dyne said slowly: 

" And if it has proven such a blessing to 
you, or even if it has only seemed to do so, 
do you think I could take it away?" 

" But you must," said Courtney. " I feel 
165 



IN BOHEMIA 

certain that good fortune can only follow 
whomsoever holds it rightfully." 

" You hold it rightfully," persisted the 
young woman. " In a little box at home, I 
have a handkerchief which has been awaiting 
its owner. It was a fair exchange." 

" There will be a meeting of directors in this 
office to-morrow. Miss Van Dyne. You or 
your representative should be here. If I may 
represent you in this matter and if you will 
be guided by me in the disposal of this prop- 
erty, the talisman will have brought all the 
good fortune a mortal man could hope for. 
Under these circumstances you will not surely 
fly in the face of the good luck which has 
come to you." 

That night the delivery wagon of a promi- 
nent florist stopped in front of Miss Van 
Dyne's hotel, and from the stems of a score of 
American Beauties dangled a little box con- 
taining an inexpensive little brooch. 

Next day a box was delivered by a messen- 
ger boy at the office in the Syndicate Building, 

166 



IN BOHEMIA 

and in the box was a handkerchief, a power of 
attorney, and an inexpensive little brooch. 

Three months later the chimes of Grace 
Church pealed out the harmonies which told 
to those who heard, that wedding-bells were 
ringing, and, as the bride stepped from her 
carriage, a careful observer might have seen 
at her throat an inexpensive little brooch. 




167 



) -" I 




THE REAL THING 



There are only four hundred real iron pots, 
That float in the stream of style, 

168 



IN BOHEMIA 

And some of those pots, 
They are pretty tough lots, 
Though they float with a satisfied smile. 

If, gifted like Homer or Solomon wise. 
You're bidden to breakfast or lunch, 
"Entertainer!" you hear; — 
"Very bright!" for your ear; — 
But, my! You don't mix with the bunch. 

And woe to the pot that is made out of clay, 
Who dares to join in with the throng, 

If the book that is blue 

Doesn't recognize you. 
You will float — I don't think — very long. 

But how do they get to be real iron pots? 
It's a sort of inherited taint, 
And a carload of " coosh," 
Without some one to push. 
Wouldn't let in a canonized saint. 

In fact, I don't think the old saints, if they 
could, 
Would care to mix up with these pots. 
169 



IN BOHEMIA 

Brass, China, and Delf, 
On the old kitchen shelf, 
Have a happier time of it — lots. 

And the four hundred pots, in the social swim, 
Many thanks to paint, powder, and pride. 
May look like a dream, 
As they float down the stream. 
But they're horribly battered, inside. 




170 




UN PETIT SALON 



Within a hundred miles of the Times build- 
ing, on Sunday nights, if you are of the elect, 
171 



IN BOHEMIA 

you may find an evening of Bohemian enjoy- 
ment where well-known actors, musicians, 
playwrights, composers, and writers, gather 
about the strong personality of the hostess. 

There is no set programme. Those who can 
entertain do so at the right time for best effect, 
and wit, wine, and salad fill in the. gaps. Some 
of the men are playing in leading attractions 
of the stage and have made pronounced hits. 
There is a handsome young fellow standing 
in the corner who has been the leading attrac- 
tion in three big productions during the last 
year, and he has made good. Near him 
stands a man of whose performances every- 
body, including the critics, says, " Wonder- 
ful!" 

That young gentleman, who might be a 
Columbia freshman, can sit down at the piano 
and hold you spellbound for an hour. And 
the man talking to him has made as many hits 
at song-writing as there are months in the 
year just past. 

The two ladies just crossing the room are 
successful stars, and absolutely deserving of 

172 



IN BOHEMIA 

success, for they are broad-minded, generous, 
and bright to a degree. 

I happen to know that a pronounced hit was 
made by a member of the cast in the play of 
the taller lady. Was she jealous and did she 
say, " If you please, I am the star of this 
play " ? 

Not a bit of it. She went to the actress who 
had done so much toward the success of the 
play and said: 

" If there is anything I can do to make your 
part still stronger, tell me, and I will do it." 
That is the spirit that would soon give New 
York better plays on Broadway and the by- 
paths. 

Some of the ladies present have had, and 
have now, a past. But how easy it is to over- 
look that if they show in their well-groomed 
personalities that they also have a future. 
We virtuous twentieth-century hypocrites 
shake a warning index finger at them with a 
reproving smile, but one day they marry mil- 
lionaires, and then what becomes of the index 
finger? It's the same girl with the same 
173 



IN BOHEMIA 

sweet personality. Marriage does play ink 
eraser to a multitude of little blots on the 
'scutcheon, doesn't it? And how easily we 
overlook the fact that a reigning queen of 
song or a bright light in the dramatic firma- 
ment hasn't the time to marry her sweet- 
heart. Household cares are supposed to dull 
temperamental brilliancy, and we gladly ex- 
cuse anything for the extra brilliance. 

I imagine those salons of the Louis' were 
really no brighter than this right here, only 
tim.e has lent a glamour, and political intrigue 
gave more importance to them. 

In those old days, the grande dames wrote 
their memoirs and were proud of them. Now- 
adays, they relive them and take them as a 
matter of course. 

After all, it is the same spirit pervading the 
atmosphere. The same sly whispers excite 
fond hopes. The same magnetic touches of 
finger-tips reshape careers, the same soulful 
looks drift into the eyes for the same causes, 
and the same complications ensue. 

The Prodigal Son and some of the Louis' 

174 



IN BOHEMIA 

and Henry the Eighth and Aaron Burr were 
all a little too Bohemian in their history-mak- 
ing episodes, but were they any different or 
any more important than the daily happen- 
ings at our elbows? Sufficient unto the day 
is the excitement thereof. 



You never miss the waiter till your throat 
gets dry. 



It is more blessed to give than to receive — 
a black eye. 



A stitch in time saves — embarrassment. 
175 



WITH THE PUNCH 

Roman Punch! Historic brew. 

Even Caesar tried a few. 
When his race in Hfe was run, 
After Brutus gave him one, 

He protested he et tu. 



DEAR LITTLE DUTCH 

He met the sweet maid and addressed her with 
" Sie " 

In his distant, respectful Teutonic, 
Too deeply in love to imagine that she 

Preferred pronouns not quite so platonic. 

So she daintily, guilelessly let fall a " Du," 
'Twas a plan that she thought he'd be won 
by, 
It was certainly proper and scriptural too. 
To " Du " just as she would be done by. 

176 



ISTutfii unn Mumnu 



T^E^SOLVED ' 
THAT JT 15 ALL RI6HT ToJl VS To 
•■'BOHEME''ATN/CHTlFWECAN 
^LEEPINJHE DAY TIME TltfC 
SfiyS HE WOULD RATHEI^ LIVE 
m BOHEMIA THAN ANroTriER LAND 
BUr J VoULD LIKE lb TAKE ATRip 
5 0METJME X IF J LIVED THEJ5E. 
JbME MEN AliE BORN BoWEMlAN J, 
4bME ACHIEVE IT, WHILE OTHERsH '' ' ' 
HAVC BOHEMIA T»KVSrvroH Itj"' 

'BujTEi^ Brown! 




?;2~sr7^.1.'^ 



Bacf Breaks and Excuses 




Ji Touch of the Bohemian 



CAFE DES AMBASSADEURS 

Just at this writing the Cafe des Ambassa- 
deurs is the Cafe de Paris of New York, with 
the modifications that chilly New York natu- 
rally places on Bohemianism as compared with 
the do-as-you-like atmosphere of Paris. 

If the monde and the demi-monde draw the 
lines of contact between circumferences a 
little more loosely, and if the cigarette were 
as prevalent as some of the ladies could wish 
it, you would have to engage a table a week 
ahead. 

Even as it is, you must be on good terms 
with the captain to have your table kept for 
you a minute after seven o'clock for dinner, 
while for supper the lines are drawn even 
more tightly. 

There is an outside cafe that commands a 
view of the inside room, in case you get into 
town late and don't care to don evening dress. 
179 



IN BOHEMIA 

The chef is a marvel, and the service 
prompt and courteous. The proprietor, well 
known through his catering in Boston and his 
acquisition of the Arena, gives his personal 
supervision to this new, bright, breezy, and 
enjoyable place. The orchestra which has 
delighted for so long at the Boulevard is here, 
and if possible the music and the choice of 
selections is better than ever. 

It is not Bohemia, but it has a touch of the 
Bohemian. You are at loss to explain why. 
There are evenings when Bohemianism is in 
the air and seems eager to assert itself. For- 
eigners are surprised that the cigarettes are 
tabooed for ladies, for they seem to belong 
with the demi-tasse at supper, even if not 
quite possible at the dinner hour. 



180 



THE BRAT 

Maw sez thet I'm a awful brat 

An' jes' a frackshus kid. 
Paw sez I scarcely got no sense 

An' almos' alius did. 
An' all this fuss is jes' bekuz 

I never tell no lies, 
But speak right out an' then they jes* 

Lick me fer exercise. 

Dear me! What can be the matter? 
Mother sez I talk too much an' father says 

I chatter. 
What's a little gurrl to say, excep' w'at's in 

her head? 
Upon my word, I hope to die. I wish 'at 

I was dead! 

One day, maw took me to a show; 
I guess 'twas Union Square, 
181 



IN BOHEMIA 



An' who paw took, I didn' know, 

But she had yello' hair. 
An' I sez: "Ain't she purrty, maw? 

Why don't they sit with us? 
What makes her purrtier than you?" 

Thet made a awful fuss. 
I wrote to paw frum Buzzard's Bay, 

Thet maw wuz much admired 
An' stayed up nights till ha'f pas' two. 

She mus' be awful tired! 
When we come back to town in fall. 

Paw scowled an' sed he guess't 
Nex' summer thet maw wouldn' need 

A powerful lot o' rest. 

One day the minister, he called, 
An' maw talked jes' like that! 

The same as when she's coaxin' paw 
Fer money fer a hat. 

An' kitty scratched me an' I sez, 

" Oh, damn it! " jes' like that. 

Maw licked me till I couldn' see 
An' gave away my cat. 



182 



IN BOHEMIA 



Some folks they has gymnasiums 

To make their muscles strong, 
But paw an' maw has only me, 

I shan't las' very long. 
An* when I'm jes' a angel child, 

A-floatin' in the skies, 
I'm wonderin' what they're goin' to do 

Fer reg'lar exercise. 



183 




THE STROLLERS 

Millionaire Bohemians are always interest- 
ing, and at the Strollers' Club, John Jacob 
Astor becomes ** Jack " regardless of his mil- 
lions, and Schwab, the magnate, is " Charlie," 
— and they like it. 

To speak of the president of the Strollers 
as Robert Sands, Esq., would seem like arti- 
ficial dignity, for to the world in general and 
the club in particular, he is " Bob." 

In his Pooh Bah personality at the club, 
he is the centre pole around which revolves 
the four hundred of society, hand in hand with 
the art world of Bohemia, in a merry-go- 
round as unique as it is delightful, and the 
moment he affixes his " O. K." to a proposed 
function, the word " Success " may be written 
on the programme in advance. 

Whether it be an opera, where Jack Golden's 
tuneful numbers set the feet that are accus- 

184 



IN BOHEMIA 

tomed to cotillions keeping syncopated time, 
or an Italian fete, where the stars of the 
opera season are thicker than bees around the 
garden, or whether it is a Cafe Chantant 
where Marie Tempest or May Irwin or Archie 
Gunn or Dick Outcault come out from the 
audience and do a stunt, which they would 
have refused to do at a price, the Bohemianism 
is there, thanks to the forethought of the 
power that is rather than the powers that be. 

At times, a somewhat formal function will 
start the evening's merriment, and Prince 
Fushimi and his staff from the Orient will ex- 
change toasts with Lieutenant-Commander 
Peary, just returned from beyond the Arctic 
Circle. Governor Odell lifts his glass in the 
genial atmosphere of the time and place and 
says: 

"I have followed the Star of Bethlehem to 
my sorrow," and he looks at Charlie Schwab 
across the table. Then he continues: 

"But let the dead past bury its dead," and 
they both smile and make up a quarrel of years' 
standing. It is the Bohemian touch that does 
185 



IN BOHEMIA 

it. A cosy little dinner to Mucha, the king of 
the art world, in the grill-room down^stairs is 
sure to be pregnant with good-fellowship. At 
no place does society meet Bohemia on such 
intimate terms as at the Strollers. The broad- 
est minds of one meet the brightest minds of 
the other, and both are satisfied. Brains and 
millions are weighed in the same scales under 
the hospitable roof. You may be Harry Black 
with the Flat-iron Building in your breast 
pocket, or you may be a humble stroller, 
posted for non-payment of your house ac- 
count, but if you have made good it is, " Hello, 
old chap!" and not *' How do you do, sir!" 
at the Strollers. 



186 




INJURED INNOCENCE 



To Her (indignant) 

Oh! Very well! If you distrust, 
I leave you, though my heart should break. 
187 



IN BOHEMIA 

We will acknowledge, since we must. 
That all has been a grave mistake. 

I burned my bridges, when we met, 

Life now, for me, begins anew. 
Sometime, perchance, you will regret 

The words that drove me far from you. 

How much of tenderness I gave. 
How much of faithfulness and trust, 

It matters not, but o'er its grave, 
We'll sing the requiem, since we must. 

To Himself (delighted) 

By Jove! It was a lucky thing 

She waded into me that way. 
It gave me just the opening 

That I have longed for, many a day. 



188 



Zo'b^tto 




^^' 



^r^^0^ 



#, 



M Little Cloudy 




They Twinkle 



THE PLEIADES 

The Pleiades Club was organized to promote 
and foster and exploit the spirit of Bohemian- 
ism. The supper or dinner is not elaborate, 
but furnishes the legitimate excuse for gather- 
ing together congenial souls who can listen 
well, and those who, in case of need, can 
mount the platform and entertain. 

It is only natural that now and then an 
evening should drag. It is impossible for 
professional managers to strike a bull's-eye 
every time. There is, therefore, plenty of ex- 
cuse for those who give their time and energy 
simply out of their loyalty to the club if an 
occasional Sunday night falls below concert 
pitch. 

The motto of the old Edenia Club prevails: 
" Talk to your neighbour." The necessity 
for formal introduction is waived, and I have 
never seen it outraged. The list of guests in- 

191 



IN BOHEMIA 

vited is supposed to contain none that would 
be unwilling to know each other. The club 
had its birth in old Maria's on Twelfth Street 
in the days of the early nineties, when only a 
few clever authors and wits had found the 
place and claimed it for their own. The club 
does not pretend to offer a vaudeville entertain- 
ment, and some who attend in that expecta- 
tion go away better satisfied than if they had 
found what they came for. After the coffee, 
a song or a speech or a story is the idea, 
though the violin or the cello or the saxo- 
phone and the ever faithful piano have done 
yeoman service in the ten years of the club's 
existence. It is intended to be a play place 
for all those who make the world laugh or 
think, and also for those who appreciate. 
There is a guest of honour each week, and the 
notables of the world have taken their turns 
in being entertained. 



192 



MY PIPE 

Aye! Bring my pipe, that fills the air with 
clouds, 
Wherein my hopes and aims take shape and 
size. 
Where joyous thoughts are born in gladdening 
crowds. 
And restful calm broods o'er my drowsy 
eyes, 
And let the fragrant weed's narcotic power 
Soothe every sorrow from my mind away 
While dreams Arcadian, with their subtle sway. 

Remove all burdens, for one blissful hour. 
Let fleecy, film-like clouds around me roll, 
And lift to starry height my weary soul. 

Oh! Glorious gift! Relief of overworked 
minds, 
What wonder thou art ever held most dear, 
193 



IN BOHEMIA 

The soul, in rapture deep, thy presence binds. 

As softest music soothes the Hstening ear. 
The flattering touch of the ambrosial breath 

Brings sweetest slumber and divine repose, 
Across each sense, the cooling infuse flowers, 

Alluring cave, unwitting to its death, 
*Tis thine to give relief from labours long 

And hear my praise in joyous bursts of 
song. 

As, on the beach, the shifting, restless sands 
Are left serene and smooth when tides re- 
tire, 
So ruffling cares and life's austere demands 
Beneath thy subtle waves of smoke expire, 
Soft melodies sink deeply in the heart, 
The spreading landscape glads the gazer's 
eye, 
Old wines a thousand comforts may supply, 

And roses rare their sweet perfume impart, 
But granting all the charms they hold for me, 
My soul gives thanks and shares them all, 
with thee. 



194 



eovufa^if^ 




Benedictine and Curacao, 

Brandy, Kummel, or green Chartreuse, 
What does it matter, for now you know, 

The feast is over, so what's the use? 




Out of Bohemia 



CAFE DES BEAUX ARTS 

Before the Cafe des Beaux Arts had a crystal 
canopy to protect its guests en route to and 
from their private equipages, you dropped 
into a basement in quite Bohemian fashion. 
You joined in the chorus of popular airs, and 
you didn't dream of ordering champagne. 

Then dainty little souvenirs began to appear 
and the ladies of a party were sent home 
delighted with some trifling novelty. Such 
is the Queendom of woman. She will drag 
a three hundred dollar gown in the dust and 
dirt rather than lose her grip on a twenty- 
five cent novelty, which she throws away 
next day. 

The chef was ingenious and the cuisine was 
good, and New York began to find it out so 
fast that a noble staircase was built leading 
to the floor above, where the overflow is cared 
for. It is very like the French cafes in its 
197 



IN BOHEMIA 

atmosphere, and very satisfying from many 
points of view. 

To many it is Bohemia. To others it is only 
Bohemian, while others find only touches of 
Bohemianism here and there. There is a dis- 
tinction in the different grades. Once on a 
time it was considered almost slumming to 
go to the Chat Noir for dinner. The Cafe des 
Beaux Arts did not begin in that way, how- 
ever. It started with cream, fine linen, and 
waiters who re-cover your table at once when 
wine is spilled. 

It is a good idea, too, for Bohemia rteedn't 
reek to radiate comfort and contentment. 

The game isn't worth the — scandal. 



Evil communications construct bad — ma 
nerisms. 

198 



A TOAST TO TO-NIGHT 

If need be, we'll wait for the break of the morn 
To toast our to-morrow, as soon as it's born, 
But while we are waiting, there's no time to 

think, 
Except when we're thinking what next we will 

drink. 
To-day we were happy. To-night we are glad. 
To-morrow may bring us a cause to be sad. 
So drink and be joyful. Imagine our plight 
If Time found us toasting to-morrow to-night. 



199 



THE BOWERY OF DAMASCUS 

Damascus, in Asia Minor, is perhaps the 
oldest city in the world, and yet I could have 
imagined that the Bowery was just outside the 
smoky, oil-lamp-lighted hall with its little 
stage, where women of all nations did the 
dances of their country. 

Inside, the character of the patronage proved 
that it was not the Bowery. 

The red fez, which is worn continuously, 
gives an air of liveliness to every gathering. 
You do not remove your fez, even in the 
presence of the Sultan. I say "your" fez 
advisedly, for you would be astonished to 
see how easily Americans adapt themselves 
to the custom and wear a fez in the Orient. 

" One of the boys " at the hotel suggests 
a little slumming, and you imagine you are 
going to see something very wicked. Through 
a long, ill-smelling corridor you find your 

200 



IN BOHEMIA 

way to the still dirtier hall, and women dance 
in the ugly ankle-length dress, or with a train, 
for there is a strict law in Syria against short 
skirts. To be sure, the very full-chested 
ladies try to atone for the length below by 
the brevity above, but the twinkling feet of 
American and French dancers put these 
clumsy, large-footed women to shame. But 
there is hidden meaning to some of their 
motions, for while you think the whole thing 
is very tame there is suddenly a storm of 
appreciation, shown by grunts and hisses that 
would scare an American actor off the stage. 
After each dance, the betinselled lady, in her 
cheap silk or still cheaper woollen dress, 
passes through the audience with a tin cup for 
gratuities, and, according to the hit she has 
made, the cup fills rapidly or slowly, but it 
fills, for she stands by with great pleading 
eyes, like those of a stalled ox, until you drop 
a coin, no matter how small, into the cup. 

It is after twelve o'clock when you leave. 
You have stayed on and on in the belief that 
as it grew later the fun would wax more 
201 



IN BOHEMIA 

furious, as it does in America, but the last 
is like unto the first and you have wasted 
an evening, except for the fact that you have 
learned something of the customs of the 
country. 

Of course there are private exhibitions, 
managed, no doubt, by Europeans, to delight 
the tourist at a price, but they are not open 
to the public at a fixed rate of admission as 
this place was. When you leave, a self-con- 
scious feeling of shamefacedness comes over 
you for having tried to be wicked and found 
nothing more suggestive than a prayer-meet- 
ing. 




202 



JAMAIS! TOUT LA VIE 

Upon zee street, I chance to meet 

Un tres grande cavalier. 
He teep hees hat to me like zat 

An' say to me : " My dear, 
Eet seem to be zat you an' me, 

We travel zee same way. 
Don't take zee car! Eet ees too far. 

Attendez vous! Coupe!" 

(With great indignation) 

"Jamais! Jamais!" I queeckly say, 
"Zat weel not do for me. 
Coupes for us are dangerous. 

Oh! Jamais! tout la vie! 
Zat weel not do, my dear M'sieu! 

W'at can you teenk of me? 
Nevare! Nevare! I would not dare. 
Oh ! Jamais ! tout la vie ! " 
203 



IN BOHEMIA 

Zen he say, "Please!" An' try to tease. 

Zat charmant zhentleman. 
He catch my eye an' say: " Please try 

Forgeeve me, eef you can." 
He spik to me so pleasantlee, 

I step in zee coupe. 
Zee feerst I know, away we go. 

An' zen I haf to say: 



(With less indignation) 

Jamais ! Jamais ! " I haf to say. 
" Zis weel not do for me. 
Coupes for us are dangerous, 

Oh! Jamais! tout la vie! 
Zis weel not do, my dear M'sieu, 

Wat can you teenk of me? 
Nevare! Nevare! I would not dare! 

Oh! Jamais! tout la vie!" 



A girl reseest w'en she is keest, 
At least, a leetle w'ile; 

204 



IN BOHEMIA 

She cannot stan' zee zhentleman, 

00 'as zee lofely smile. 

So, w'en he tell to me : " Ma'mselle, 

1 keep you from all harms." 
I tremble so I do not know 

He hold me een hees arms. 

(With no indignation) 

"Jamais! Jamais!" I softly say. 
" Zis weel not do for me. 
Coupes for us are dangerous, 

Oh! Jamais! tout la vie! 
Zis weel not do, my dear M'sieu, 

Wat can you teenk of me? " 
He say: "Ma'mselle, I weel not tell. 

Oh! Jamais! tout la vie!" 



205 



THE LAST BOHEMIAN 

"The gnarled oak shall end its growing; 
The swirling stream shall stop its flowing; 
The winds of Heaven shall cease their blow- 
ing; 
When chaos comes again." 

For the foibles of fashion have passed away, 

And palaces prone in dust, 
By their carven, crumbling fragments say 

That the March of Time is just. 
My cloven hoof and my hair-clad form 

Lead back to the Mark of the Beast; 
But one thing lives, for my heart is warm. 

For the nymph who shares my feast. 

I found in a broken, corpseless tomb, 

A record of splendours past; 
Where the words of men foretold their doom, 

But of men, I am the last. 

206 



IN BOHEMIA 

Whence came the earth, no man has known; 

Whence goes it, none shall say; 
Its pomp has flown. What need of a throne 

For the king who pipes this lay: 

" The gnarled oak shall end its growing; 
The swirling stream shall stop its flowing; 
The winds of Heaven shall cease their blow- 
ing; 

When chaos comes again." 




"For the foibles of fashion have passed away' 

207 



